i >i< iH)in ii>ii » i i i«i , I , ii i i ii ii i i ii ;;irif|ir i '-r7 t |tnl^'Ti ' "^' ?T £ - 
 
BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 FROM THE » 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUj^D 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 Hentg M. Sage 
 
 1S91 
 
 (\.M^3i1^ ^"^M'i 
 
 97»4 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITY UBRARY 
 
 3 1924 102 199 811 
 
rr 
 
THE 
 
 SONG OF THE BELL 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 9241 021 9981 1 
 
THE 
 
 SONG OF THE BELL 
 
 AND OTHER TRANSLATIONS 
 
 FROM SCHILLER, GOETHE, UHLAND, 
 AND OTHERS 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR THEODORE MARTIN, K.C.B. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIX 
 
 ci? 
 
A.^sh-sts 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM SCHILLER— 
 
 THE SONG OF THE BELL, . . • ■ 3 
 
 THE DIVER, ^ .... 24 
 
 THE FIGHT "WITH THE DRAGON, . 34 
 
 FRIDOLIN, ... .... 48 
 
 PEGASU3 IN HARNESS, . 60 
 
 RITTER TOGGENBURG, ... 66 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER, , 70 
 
 THE CRANES OF IBYCUS, . . 83 
 
 THE RING OF POLYCRATES, . . 92 
 
 THE GLOVE, . . . .97 
 
 THE HOSTAGE . IO3 
 
 RUDOLPH OF HAPSBDRG, . . . . Ill 
 
 CASSANDRA, II 7 
 
 THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS, . . . 124 
 
 THE IDEALS, . . 1 29 
 
 THE MEETING, . ... 1 34 
 
Contents. 
 
 EXPECTATION, .... 
 ODE TO JOY, .... 
 THE PARTITION OF THE EARTH, 
 
 136 
 140 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM LUDWIG UHLAND— 
 
 COUNT EBERSTEIN, . 
 
 149 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 . . 152 
 
 THE CASTLE BY THE SEA, 
 
 153 
 
 THE POOR man's SONG, . 
 
 iSS 
 
 THE WREATH, . 
 
 157 
 
 THE DYING HEROES, .... 
 
 '59 
 
 THE POPPY 
 
 162 
 
 THE SERENADE, 
 
 164 
 
 THE FAREWELL, .... 
 
 . . 165 
 
 DURAND, 
 
 168 
 
 THE STUDENT, 
 
 171 
 
 THE minstrel's CURSE, 
 
 . . 176 
 
 THE KING UPON THE TOWER, . 
 
 . . 183 
 
 THE hostess's DAUGHTER, 
 
 i8S 
 
 DANTE, 
 
 . . 187 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS TRANSLATIONS— 
 
 FROM GOETHE— 
 
 ST PETER AND THE CHERRIES, . 
 FROM THE ROMAN ELEGIES, 
 
 193 
 197 
 
Contents. vii 
 
 FROM WILHELM MULLER- 
 
 THE ATHENIAN GIRL, . . . 2O4 
 
 THE MAINOTE's WIDOW, . . 2o6 
 
 MARK BOZZARI 209 
 
 SONG BEFORE BATTLE, .... 214 
 
 CHIDHER, . FROM FRIEDRICH RUCKERT, 2l8 
 
 FROM THE ROMAIC— 
 
 THE GRAVE OF DIMOS, . . . 221 
 
 CHARON AND THE SOULS, . . . 223 
 
 lOTIS DYING, 225 
 
 napoleon's MIDNIGHT REVIEW, 
 
 FROM ZEDLITZ, 227 
 THE ANGEL AND THE INFANT, 
 
 FROM JEAN REBOUL, 231 
 
 FROM CEHLENSCHLAGER's SOCRATES, . . 234 
 
 FROM HERMANN LINGG- 
 
 song, 236 
 
 to my mother, .... 238 
 
 THE sailor's wife, ... . 24O 
 
 THE BLACK DEATH 242 
 
 FROM FERDINAND FREILIGRATH— 
 
 HURRAH, GERMANIA ! . . . . 246 
 
 LOVE, LOVE EVER ! 250 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 FROM GUSTAV HARTWIG— 
 
 THE LAST STRING 253 
 
 THE EVE OF ST JOHN, . . • . 259 
 
 FROM PETRARCH, 266 
 
 SONNETS FROM ARIOSTO, 268 
 
 TO PYRRHA, . . . FROM HORACE, 27 1 
 
 THE SAME MODERNISED, TO CORALIE, . . 273 
 
 THE JOVIAL priest's CONFESSION, . . 275 
 
 THE monk's dream, . . . . 284 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM SCHILLER 
 
THE SONG OF THE BELL. 
 
 *' Si&DS bata ; mortcos plango ; fulgnra frango." 
 
 TT'IRMLY nualled up in the earth 
 
 The mould is set of well-burnt clay ; 
 To-day the Bell must have its birth J 
 Then bustle, lads 1 To work, away I 
 Hotly from the brow 
 The sweat must trickle now, 
 If the work is to sound the Master's praise. 
 But the blessing, it comes from above always. 
 
 With our grave task were fitly blended 
 A grave and serious word or two : 
 
 If 'tis by goodly talk attended, 
 Then toil goes light and briskly through. 
 
4 Schiller. 
 
 So let us now contemplate duly 
 
 What's shaped by our weak hands and thews ; 
 The man is despicable truly, 
 
 Who ne'er his handiwork reviews. 
 'Tis this, that man's especial grace is, 
 
 For this was reason given, that he 
 Within his heart and soul retraces 
 
 The things his hand has made to be. 
 
 Logs of pine now have them ready. 
 
 Dry and seasoned well belike, 
 That the flames, compact and steady, 
 'Gainst the furnace throat may strike?- 
 The copper melts ; now in 
 Quickly throw the tin; 
 That the tough bell-metal so 
 Duly may combine and flow. 
 
 What in the pit there, darkly glooming. 
 Our hands with help of fire shall frame. 
 
 High in the belfry turret booming, 
 Our doings loudly shall proclaim. 
 
 ' Bell-metal is melted in a reverberatory furnace, made of 
 clay and brick. The flames pass through the throat of the 
 furnace, and are reflected down upon the surface of the metal. 
 
The Song of the Bell. 
 
 On many an ear, on many a morrow, 
 
 'Twill vibrate on to distant time. 
 Will with the heavy-hearted sorrow. 
 
 And with the hymnal chorus chime. 
 What to earth's sons, to wound or quicken. 
 
 The fitful change of fate may bring, 
 Upon its rim metallic stricken, 
 
 Shall far a pregnant moral ring. 
 
 See I white bubbles now rise thickly I 
 
 Good t the mass is melting fast. 
 Stir in potash freely, quickly, 
 Then 'twill soon be ripe to cast ! 
 From all scum, too, free. 
 Must the mixture be ; 
 So may its voice, full, clear, and round, 
 From the pure metal then resound. 
 
 For when a babe some union blesses. 
 It greets him with a festal strain, 
 
 As, lulled by slumber's soft caresses, 
 His earliest step in life is ta'en. 
 
 For him as yet within time's breast 
 
 The lots of storm or sunshine rest. 
 
Schiller. 
 
 A mother's cares are round him drawn, 
 From harm to shield his golden dawn. 
 
 Years arrow-swift sweep on amain. 
 The boy, his girlish playmate spurning, 
 
 With fiery heart is bent to roam ; 
 Through distant lands he storms, returning 
 
 A stranger to his parents' home. 
 And now, youth's glorious light arrayed in. 
 
 As if from heaven the vision came. 
 Before him stands the ripened maiden. 
 
 Her cheeks with modest blush aflame. 
 Anon, with nameless yearnings hidden 
 
 Deep in his heart, alone he strays : 
 Tears to his eyes rise up unbidden, 
 
 He shuns his rough companions' gaze. 
 Blushing he haunts her steps, her glance is 
 
 A joy to him all joys above. 
 Fair flowers he culls, whate'er he fancies, 
 
 To make sweet posies for his love. 
 Oh, Hope entrancing, yearning tender. 
 
 Our first love's golden time ! The eye 
 Sees heaven open bathed in splendour. 
 
 The heart is lapped in ecstasy. 
 
The Song of the Bell. 
 
 Ah, would young love's delightsome time 
 Ne'er lost the freshness of its prime ! 
 
 How brown the tubes grow, have you noted 1 
 
 In I dip this wand. If it 
 Come out, with glaze all over coated. 
 The time for casting will befit. 
 Now, my lads, draw nigh ! 
 Test the mixture ! Try 1 
 If soft with hard is blending well, 
 'Twill then a good result foretell. 
 
 For where the stern and gentle, where 
 The firm 'and mild are mated, there 
 
 Rings music clear, and sweet, and strong. 
 Prove, then, ere you for life are bound. 
 If heart in heart its mate have found ! 
 
 Illusion's brief, repentance long. 
 
 Through the maiden's tresses stealing 
 
 Gleams the bridal chaplet bright. 
 When the church bells, blithely pealing, 
 
 To the wedding feast invite. 
 
8 Schiller. 
 
 Ah ! when life's sweetest rite is ended, 
 Life's Maytime glories wane and pale ; 
 
 In twain the fair illusion's rended 
 With the girdle, with the veil. 
 
 Away passion flies. 
 
 Love abides and takes root ; 
 
 The flower-bloom dies, 
 
 To give place to the fruit. 
 
 Out the husband must go 
 
 Into life, to contend there. 
 
 Must toil and must struggle. 
 
 Must plant and must spend there, 
 
 Must wrestle and juggle, 
 
 Be wary and bold. 
 
 If he is to get hold 
 
 Of gear and of gold. 
 
 Then riches stream in with continuous flow. 
 
 Things costly and rare fill his storerooms capacious ; 
 
 He adds field to field, his house grows more 
 spacious. 
 
 And paramount there 
 
 Is the housewife, the mother ; 
 
 Her household she keepeth 
 
 Well under command. 
 
The Song of the Bell. 9 
 
 Directing, controlling 
 
 With motherly hand. 
 
 She teaches the girls, 
 
 The boys she holds tight. 
 
 Her hands never idle 
 
 By day or by night ; 
 
 Makes by managing skill 
 
 Her store greater still ; 
 
 With treasures fills presses with lavender spread. 
 
 And twines round the swift-whirring spindle the 
 
 thread, 
 And stores in chests polished and spotlessly bright 
 The shimmering wool, and the linen snow-white ; 
 Joins what is the comeliest with what is the best, 
 And is never at rest. — 
 
 And from his home's high roof, with gaze 
 
 Of rapture the father around surveys 
 
 The good things wherewith he is richly blest. 
 
 And tells them over with eager zest. 
 
 He sees the huge sheds their shadows throwing, 
 
 The barns that are filled to overflowing. 
 
 The storerooms bending beneath their strain. 
 
 The billowy sweep of the ripening grain, 
 
10 Schiller. 
 
 And says in his heart, with a throb of pride, 
 " Firm as earth's self, whatever betide. 
 Stands my house, in its lordly state. 
 Proof against every assault of fate." 
 But who with the Powers of Destiny may 
 A compact weave, that will last for aye ? 
 And very swift is Disaster's stride. 
 
 Good I Now the casting may begin, 
 
 Clean and sharp is the fracture there ; 
 Yet, or ever we run the metal in, 
 Send from the heart a fervent prayer ! 
 Now strike out the tap ! 
 God shield from mishap ! 
 Smoking the fiery tide shoots down 
 The arching loops} all dusky brown ! 
 
 The power of fire is a power of good, 
 When tamed by man, and its force subdued, 
 And whate'er 'neath his shaping fingers grows 
 To this celestial power he owes. 
 
 ' These are the ears or loops on the crown of the bell, 
 technically called "canons,"' by means of which it is sus- 
 pended. 
 
The Song of the Bell. 1 1 
 
 Yet dread can this power celestial be, 
 
 When she tears herself from all trammels free, 
 
 And, tameless daughter of Nature, breaks 
 
 Away by the path for herself she makes. 
 
 Woe, when she, set loose, o'erbearing 
 
 All resistance that she meets. 
 
 Hurls her firebrands wildly flaring 
 
 Through the people-crowded streets ! 
 
 For whate'er men's hands create 
 
 The forces elemental hate. 
 
 From the clouds of heaven 
 
 Streams the blessed rain ; 
 
 From the clouds of heaven 
 
 For blessing or bane. 
 
 Shoots the forkfed levin. 
 
 Hark ! What sounds from the watch-tower swell ! 
 
 'Tis the tocsin's knell ! 
 
 And see, the sky 
 
 Is red as blood ! 
 
 Not there the flood 
 
 Of daylight broke ! 
 
 Along the street 
 
 What tumult and roaring ! 
 
1 2 Schiller. 
 
 Volumes of smoke 
 
 Shoot up ! and fleet, 
 
 From pillars of flickering fire upsoaring, 
 
 The wind-fanned flames through all the length 
 
 Of street rush onwards, gathering strength. 
 
 Hot as the breath from a furnace flashing 
 
 Is the stifling air, beams crackle and blaze, 
 
 Pillars are toppling, windows are crashing, 
 
 Children whimper and whine, mothers wander a- 
 
 craze. 
 Beasts in their stalls 
 
 Are lowing beneath the crumbling walls ; 
 All is running and rescuing, dread and dismay, 
 And night is as light as the broad noon-day. 
 From hand to hand, the line along, 
 The buckets fly, and, arching high, 
 Shoot sheets of water in torrents strong. 
 Anon the blast comes howling by. 
 It seizes the flames with triumphant roar, 
 Falls with a crash on the dried-fruit-store, 
 Through the long range of the granaries spreads. 
 Grips the dry beams of the stalls and sheds, 
 And, as if with a fury fierce and frantic 
 'T would tear along in headlong flight 
 
The Song of the Bell. 1 3 
 
 The frame of earth, if so it might, 
 
 It grow and grows, up, up to a height 
 
 Gigantic ! 
 
 Hopeless now, 
 
 Man to the might of the gods must bow; 
 
 Amazed, benumbed, he sees what made 
 
 His joy, his pride, in ruin laid. 
 
 All round, the ground 
 
 Is burnt and bare. 
 
 For the raging tempests a rugged lair. 
 
 Ghastly and drear 
 
 Are the yawning gaps that have windows been. 
 
 And the clouds of the welkin peer 
 
 Down on the wreck within. 
 
 One look upon the grave 
 Of all was his so late 
 
 The father casts behind him, then with brave 
 Stout heart he grasps his staff, and fronts his fate. 
 Though the ruthless flames have despoiled him so, 
 One comfort is left him to sweeten despair, 
 He counts his beloved ones' heads, and lo ! 
 Not one dear head is awanting there. 
 
14 Schiller. 
 
 Now 'tis lodged within the ground, 
 
 The mould is finely filled / Ah, will 
 The bell come forth complete and sound. 
 To recompense our toil and skill? 
 Has the cast gone right 1 
 Has the mould held tight ? 
 Ah, while we still are hopeful thus, 
 Mischance perhaps has stricken us I 
 
 To holy earth's dark womb do we 
 
 Intrust the work our hands have made ; 
 The sower intrusts the seed, that he 
 
 Hopes forth will shoot in leaf and blade, 
 So heaven ordain, that this may be ! 
 Sadly a seed more precious still 
 
 We hide within earth's darkling womb, 
 And hope that from the grave it will 
 
 Into a brighter being bloom. 
 
 From the steeple 
 Booms the bell. 
 Dull and slow, 
 The funeral knell. 
 
The Song of the Bell. i S 
 
 Sad escort are these tones that mourn 
 
 To one on life's last journey borne. 
 
 Ah, it is the wife belovfed ! 
 
 Ah, it is the faithful mother. 
 
 Whom the Shades' dark prince doth wrest 
 
 From a doting husband's breast. 
 
 From the group of children, whom *• 
 
 She bore him in her early bloom, 
 
 Whom she has seen with mother's pride 
 
 Grow up and flourish by her side ! 
 
 Ah, rent is that sweet bond of home. 
 
 And never can again be knit ! 
 For in the Shadow-land she dwells. 
 
 Whose love maternal ordered it. 
 No more her gentle sway is known. 
 
 No more her wakeful care and pains ; 
 Within those widowed chambers lone 
 
 A stranger, hard and loveless, reigns. 
 
 Till the bell cools down, we now 
 From our anxious toil may rest. 
 
 Free as happy bird on bough, 
 Each may do as likes him best. 
 
r6 Schiller. 
 
 At set of sun. 
 
 His duty done, 
 The 'prentice hears the vesper toll, 
 But rest there is none for the master's soul. 
 
 The wanderer, far in the forest wild, 
 
 Quickens his pace, as he hears it knell. 
 
 To the cottage home, that he loves so well. 
 
 The sheep draw homewards bleating, 
 
 And the cattle, trooping in. 
 
 Broad of forehead, sleek of skin, 
 
 Lowing loud, as evening falls. 
 
 Fill their old accustomed stalls. 
 
 The creaking wain 
 
 Staggers in with its load of grain ; 
 
 See on the sheaves 
 
 The chaplet lie. 
 
 Bright with flowers 
 
 Of every dye ! 
 
 And off to the dance the young reapers fly. 
 
 Market and street grow hushed and still ; 
 
 Round lamp's and hearth-fire's social flame 
 
 The houses' inmates gather. 
 
 And grating harsh the town-gate shuts. 
 
The Song of the Bell. 17 
 
 Earth shrouds her then 
 
 In black ; but night 
 
 To the citizen 
 
 Brings no affright, — ■ 
 
 Night, that from their darkling den 
 
 Rouses the wicked, their prowl to make ; 
 
 For the eye of Law is ever awake. 
 
 Holy Order, with every kind 
 
 Of blessing fraught, who like doth bind 
 
 To like by ties, gall not nor fray, 
 
 Who did of towns the foundations lay. 
 
 And into them from wood and wild 
 
 The savage, that shuns his kind, beguiled ; 
 
 Entered the hovels of men, and taught 
 
 The virtues by gentle manners wrought. 
 
 And wove, of all ties the dearest, pride 
 
 In the land where our forefathers died. 
 
 Industrious hands, their labours plying. 
 Work on in friendly league, and so, 
 
 Each in his craft with other vying, 
 Their powers to higher achievement grow. 
 
 B 
 
8 Schiller. 
 
 To guard fair freedom's sacred treasure, 
 
 Master and man their force unite, 
 Each in his station finds his pleasure, 
 
 And pays the scorner slight for slight. 
 Toil is the burgher's crown of merit. 
 
 His guerdon some true blessing won ; 
 Kings from the state which they inherit 
 
 Take honour, we from the things we've done. 
 Oh, blessfed peace. 
 Oh, Concord sweet. 
 Hover, oh hover. 
 With kindly sway, 
 Over this town of ours, I pray ! 
 Oh, may it never dawn, the day. 
 When grim War's ruthless crew 
 Shall riot this calm valley through! 
 When the heavens, which evening's mellow red 
 Colours with hues so fair, 
 Are all aflame with the ghastly glare 
 Of blazing towns, and the havoc dread 
 Of villages burning there ! 
 
 Now, break me down the walk there! — They 
 In our work have done their part — 
 
The Song of the Bell. 19 
 
 That our successful casting may 
 Rejoice both eye and heart. 
 
 Smite, stroke on stroke, 
 
 Till the shell is broke ! ^ 
 Ere the bell can rise from the pit below, 
 The mould must into pieces go. 
 
 The master may, when all is ready, 
 
 Shatter the mould, for sage is he, 
 But woe betide, if in fiery eddy 
 
 The hot ore is- by itself set free. 
 With thunderous crash, blind-raging, from its 
 
 Ruptured cell, it bursts in flame, 
 And fiery wreck and ruin vomits, 
 
 As though from the jaws of hell it came. 
 Where brute force rules, unchecked by brains, 
 Form cannot be, mere chaos reigns ; 
 When the populace breaks from restraint away, 
 Alas for their weal on that woful day ! 
 
 Woe, when in cities, smouldering under. 
 Fire spreads and spreads with silent force, 
 
 '^ The outside mould of the bell is called the "shell," or 
 sometimes the "cope.'' 
 
20 Schiller. 
 
 And the people, tearing their chains asunder, 
 
 In self-deliverance seek recourse. 
 Then, tumult tugging the ropes, the bell 
 Peals on the ear like some madman's yell. 
 And what was vowed only to peaceful things 
 To ravage and rapine the summons rings. 
 Liberty and Equality ! High 
 Through street and alley swells the cry ! 
 The peaceful citizen flies to arms, 
 With gathering crowds street, market, swarms, 
 And ruffian bands, that erst shunned the day. 
 Come trooping about, as they scent their prey. 
 Then women turn to hyenas there. 
 
 And make of horrors a scofif, a jest. 
 And rend with panther-teeth and tear 
 
 The heart yet warm from some hated breast, 
 Nothing is sacred more ; flung loose 
 
 Is every tie of restraint and shame ; 
 The Good gives place to the Bad, and all 
 
 The Vices run riot, uncurbed by blame. 
 To rouse the lion in jungle bedded 
 
 Is perilous, fell is the tiger's tooth. 
 But of all dread things to be chiefly dreaded 
 
 Is man, divested of reason and ruth. 
 
The Song of the Bell. 2 1 
 
 Woe to those, who hand light's heaven-sent torch 
 To the purblind fool ! Its kindly ray 
 
 Is no light for him, it can only scorch. 
 And cities and countries in ashes lay. 
 
 God unto me great joy has given. 
 Behold! Like any golden star. 
 From its shell the metal kernel riven 
 
 Shows clean and smooth, not a flaw to mar. 
 From crown to rim it gleams, 
 Bright as the bright sun's beams ; 
 The scutcheons, clear and sharp also. 
 The skill of the moulder' s fingers show. 
 
 Now, comrades all, this way, this way ! 
 Close up your ranks, that so we may 
 Baptise and consecrate the Bell. 
 Its name shall be Concordia ! 
 Let her to all our townsmen say, 
 "In unity and loving concord dwell ! " 
 
 And this be the vocation still. 
 The Master framed her to fulfil ! 
 
22 Schiller. 
 
 With heaven's blue canopy above her, 
 
 High o'er our toils and struggles here, 
 Shall she, the thunder's neighbour, hover. 
 
 And border on the starry sphere ; 
 A voice she shall be from above. 
 
 Even like the shining starry throng. 
 That, moving, praise their Maker's love. 
 
 And lead the circling year along. 
 To solemn things, and only such. 
 
 Let her metallic music chime. 
 And let her, swiftly swinging, touch, 
 
 Each hour, the flying skirts of time ! 
 Let her to fate an utterance lend. 
 
 Herself without a heart to feel. 
 And on life's change and chance attend 
 
 With evermore recurring peal. 
 And, as the clang dies out, that, riding 
 
 Far on the breezes, loudly boomed, 
 So may she teach, nought is abiding, 
 
 All things of earth to death are doomed. 
 
 Now tackle to the ropes, and prise 
 The bell up from the pit, that so 
 
The Song of the Bell. 23 
 
 She to the realm of sound may rise. 
 
 High up aloft, where the breezes blow I 
 Pull, pull, lads t See, 
 She waves, swings free ! 
 Joy to our town may this portend. 
 And Peace the message be, she foremost forth 
 shall send ! 
 
24 
 
 THE DIVER. 
 
 " TLJ O ! where is the knight or the squire so bold, 
 
 Will dive through yon whirling eddy ? 
 Within it I fling this goblet of gold, 
 
 The black maw has gulphed it already. 
 He that brings it me back from yon yeasty deep, 
 That goblet all for his own may keep." 
 
 Spoke the king, and the goblet down he flung 
 
 From the edge of the cliff", that o'er 
 The limitless ocean high-beetling hung, 
 
 To the whirlpool's frenzied roar. 
 " Who, again I ask, is so bold, will dare 
 To dive through the deeps that are surging there ? " 
 
 Of the knights and the squires that were standing 
 near 
 On the silence not one breaks in ; 
 
The Diver. 2$ 
 
 Down into the raging flood they peer, 
 
 But the goblet none cares to win. 
 And again the king asks, as no sign they make, 
 " Is there no one will venture that plunge to take ? " 
 
 Still all is hushed as before ; but now 
 
 From the band of squires that stood quaking 
 broke 
 A youth, meek of mien, but with fearless brow. 
 
 And he flung down his belt and his cloak ; 
 And the lords and the ladies round all gaze 
 On the shapely youth with eager amaze. 
 
 And as to the edge of the cliff he goes, 
 
 And looks down into the chasm, 
 Aloft with a roar the Charybdis throws 
 
 The flood it had sucked down with furious spasm. 
 And up, as its black breast parts in sunder, 
 Foams the flood with a din as of distant thunder. 
 
 And it boils and it bubbles, it hisses, it booms, 
 As when water meets fire, and together they rush ; 
 
 The drenching spray to the welkin spumes, 
 
 Torrents endless on torrents crowd on and crush, 
 
26 Schiller. 
 
 And still they pour onwards, and never are spent, 
 As though ocean on spawning new oceans were 
 bent. 
 
 But at last the mad turmoil grows still, and 
 between 
 
 The snow-white flakes of the weltering swell, 
 A black wide fathomless chasm is seen. 
 
 That looks as it led to the vaults of Hell, 
 And into that swirling crater vast 
 The wild waves are swept down fiercely and fast. 
 
 Now swift, while the chasm is still gaping there, 
 Does the youth unto God his soul confide. 
 
 And — a shriek of horror rings through the air — 
 He is swept away in the whirling tide. 
 
 And in wondrous wise its jaws close o'er 
 
 That swimmer bold : he is seen no more. 
 
 A hush came over the watery abyss, 
 
 Far down hollow moanings were heard to swell; 
 Men whispered in fear, and their words were 
 this: 
 
 " Brave youth ! gallant heart ! farewell, farewell ! " 
 
The Diver. 27 
 
 And hollower grew the strange moanings they 
 
 heard, 
 And their hearts sank with terror, but no one 
 
 stirred. 
 
 Thy crown if yonder thou wert to fling, 
 
 And said, that crown who shall bring me here, 
 
 'Tis his to wear, and to wear as king, 
 
 Not me would it tempt, that guerdon dear. 
 
 What the howling abysses down there conceal 
 
 May the lips of no man that lives reveal. 
 
 In yon whirlpool's gripe barks many and tall 
 Sheer down into fathomless deeps have shot. 
 
 But mast and keel, rent and shattered, are all 
 Which up from that fell grave their way have 
 wrought. 
 
 And clear, like a tempest's rush, and clearer, 
 
 They hear the roar driving on nearer and nearer. 
 
 And it boils and it bubbles, it hisses, it booms. 
 As when water meets fire, and together they rush ; 
 
 The drenching spray to the welkin spumes. 
 
 Torrents endless on torrents crowd on and crush. 
 
28 Schiller. 
 
 And up, as its black breast parts in sunder, 
 They rush with a din as of distant thunder. 
 
 And see ! from that black breast's weltering flow 
 
 Something white as a swan uprears, 
 And an arm is bared, and a shoulder of snow, 
 
 And stoutly with spirit unflagging it steers. 
 " 'Tis he ! " and aloft in triumph he swings 
 In his left hand the goblet which was the king's. 
 
 A deep, deep breath and a long drew he. 
 
 And he hailed the glad light of day. 
 And each to the other cried out in glee, 
 
 " He hves ! it is he ! it has missed its prey ! 
 From the maelstrom's clutch, from the very grave, 
 He has saved his soul alive ! Oh brave ! " 
 
 He comes; close round him with shouts they 
 cling. 
 
 And on knee low bending there 
 He tenders the goblet to the king. 
 
 And the king, he beckons his daughter fair ; 
 For the youth she brims it with sparkling wine, 
 And thus did he to the king propine : 
 
The Diver. 29 
 
 " Long live the king ! let the man be glad 
 Who draws his breath in the rosy air ! 
 
 Down yonder are horrors to make us mad ; 
 To tempt the kind gods let no man dare, 
 
 Nor ever desire to behold what they 
 
 In terror and darkness have hidden away. 
 
 " Down, swift as lightning, down it bore me, 
 When a torrent that burst from its craggy lair 
 
 With fury resistless came sweeping o'er me. 
 
 And, clutched in its gripe, I went whirling there, 
 
 Through the swirl of the currents spun round and 
 round. 
 
 Like a schoolboy's top, and no footing found. 
 
 " Then I called in that anguish of dread and woe 
 On God, and a peak He showed to me, 
 
 That rose sheer up from the depths below ; 
 
 Straight I caught it fast, and from death was free j 
 
 And there, too, the coral spikes among, 
 
 The goblet, saved from depths bottomless, hung. 
 
 " Below me a precipice vast and sheer 
 Hung o'er an abyss of a purply black ; 
 
30 Schiller. 
 
 A hush like eternity's fell on my ear, 
 
 But low down the eye could with horror track, 
 Where the snake, salamander, and dragon fell 
 Writhed in the jaws of that ghastly hell. 
 
 " There they huddled and swarmed, black, loathly, 
 and grim, 
 Intertwined in a hideous ball — 
 The prickly roach, the sea-wolf ^ with him. 
 
 And the hammerfish, loathliest, blackest of all, 
 And threatening and fierce the teeth gleamed 
 
 through the dark 
 Of the ocean-hysena, — the terrible shark. 
 
 " And there hung I ; O God, to be 
 So far from all human aidance thrown, 
 
 '^ What the " Klippenfisch " of the original indicates is not 
 very clear. Most probably Schiller had the scansor or wolf- 
 fish ia his mind. Yarrell says of it, " It has a catlike head, 
 with most formidable teeth, and neither wants the will nor the 
 power to attack others or defend itself. " "It fights desper- 
 ately, inflicting severe wounds." " It swims rapidly, and has 
 acquired the name of sea- wolf from its ferocity." "It attains 
 the length of six or seven feet or more." It is well known on 
 the northern shores of Europe. 
 
The Diver. 3 1 
 
 The one sentient thing 'mid the spawn of the sea, 
 
 Alone in that solitude ghastly, — alone ! 
 Far down where no mortal speech can pierce, 
 In that dismal waste 'mong its monsters fierce. 
 
 " And, O horrible thought ! it is crawling there, 
 With its hundred suckers around it flung. 
 
 It will dart on me^ — so in mad despair 
 I let go the coral to which I had clung, 
 
 When away the wild whirling torrent tore me, 
 
 But that torrent I blessed, for aloft it bore me ! " 
 
 In wonder lost for a while stood the king, 
 Then out spake he : " The goblet is thine ! 
 
 And see, for thy guerdon I add this ring. 
 Begemmed with stones of a priceless shine. 
 
 If again thou wilt venture, and tell to me 
 
 What thou saw'st in the nethermost gulfs of the 
 sea ! " 
 
 ' Schiller gives no name to the "It," leaving his reader to 
 picture for himself what the creature may be, — some fabled 
 monster of the Octopus order, probably, as drawn by Victor 
 Hugo, in his ' Travailleurs de la Mer. ' 
 
32 Schiller. 
 
 Then pity was stirred in his daughter's breast : 
 " O father ! " with fondling tones she prayed, 
 
 "Enough, enough of this hideous jest; 
 
 None like him for you ever such venture made. 
 
 And if nought can your frenzied longing stay, 
 
 Let your knights shame the feat of the squire, if 
 they may ! " 
 
 Straight the king caught the goblet up in his hand, 
 And he hurled it into the whirlpool's roar : 
 
 " Bring me back that goblet, here where I stand, 
 And the best of my knights thou shalt ride be- 
 fore; 
 
 Ay, this very day shall thy bridals see 
 
 With her who so tenderly pleads for thee ! " 
 
 Then his soul with a rapture divine was flushed. 
 Courage flashed from his eyes. What could now 
 dismay ? 
 There she stood in her beauty — he looked — she 
 blushed, 
 Then grew ashy pale, and straight fainted away. 
 That peerless prize he will win, or drown. 
 And again to the wild waves he plunges down. 
 
The Diver. 33 
 
 'Tis returning, the maelstrom, its roaring they hear, 
 A boom as of thunder foretokens its course ; 
 
 Down over the cliff many fond eyes peer. 
 
 They are coming, they're come, all the billows in 
 force ; 
 
 They roar up to the cliff, they fall back with a roar, 
 
 But no billow brings back the youth once more. 
 
34 
 
 THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON. 
 
 T T ARK the loud roar ! Why pours the throng 
 
 In eager bands the streets along ? 
 Is Rhodes in flames, that all is bustle, 
 And crowds on crowds push on and justle? 
 Ho ! towering o'er the press I see 
 A knight, and mounted gallantly ; 
 And after him — ye saints prevailing ! 
 An uncouth monster they are trailing. 
 A dragon 'tis, with jaws, dread sight ! 
 
 Like crocodile's, thrown wide asunder ; 
 And the crowd turns, now to the knight, 
 
 Now to the beast, with looks of wonder. 
 
 A thousand voices rend the air, 
 
 " Come on, and see the dragon there. 
 
 That ravaged all our flocks — come, view him ! 
 
 This is the gallant knight that slew him ! 
 
The Fight with the Dragon. 35 
 
 Of all, who erewhile ventured thus 
 
 To the encounter perilous, 
 
 None e'er returned to tell the story : 
 
 Give to the brave knight praise and glory ! " 
 
 And to the cloister they are gone. 
 
 Where in conclave their noble valours. 
 The Order of the Baptist John, 
 
 Are gathered — the good Hospitallers. 
 
 And now before the Master stands 
 
 The youth with meekly folded hands : 
 
 In press the throng, with shouts loud pealing 
 
 O'er buttress, gallery, and ceiling ; 
 
 When up and speaks the noble youth : — 
 
 " Here, as good knight, I've proved my truth ; 
 
 The dragon, which the country wasted. 
 
 Death from my hand and glaive has tasted. 
 
 The traveller now his way may ride. 
 
 Beasts drive afield or far or nearly ; 
 The pilgrim up the mountain side 
 
 Wend to Our Ladye's Chapel cheerly." 
 
 But thus replied with darkling frown 
 
 The Prince : — " Yes, thou hast won renown ; 
 
36 Schiller. 
 
 Valour's the plume in knighthood's bonnet, 
 And thou, my son, mayst proudly don it. 
 But say, what duty first should claim 
 His soul who fights in Jesus' name. 
 Who wears the Cross's rosy token ? " 
 The crowd fell back, no word was spoken. 
 But he right firmly answers this, 
 
 While blushes speak the thought that moves 
 him: — 
 " Obedience the first duty is. 
 
 Which of that token worthy proves him." 
 
 " And yet, my son, this duty hast 
 Thou in thy pride thrown lightly past. 
 And wrongly to that conflict ridden, 
 Which we had by our laws forbidden ! " 
 " Sire, when thou shalt know all, decide ! " 
 The youth with tranquil mien replied ; 
 " For, sooth, I meant no contravention 
 Of the law's spirit and intention. 
 In no rash humour forth I fared 
 
 To meet the horrid snake ; but slowly, 
 With quaint devices well prepared, 
 
 I sought to bring the monster lowly. 
 
The Fight with the Dragon. 37 
 
 " Five of our Order, and its flower, 
 Had fallen beneath the dragon's power, 
 When with wise heed, as still thou wontest. 
 Thou didst debar us from the contest. 
 Yet at my heart I felt a fire. 
 That yearned for strife, a wild desire — 
 Yea, even in dreams, all hushed around me, 
 In the hard tug of fight I've found me ; 
 And when the morning's dawn would come, 
 
 And news of fresh disasters enter, 
 Smitten with anguish wearisome 
 
 I vowed to rush to the adventure. 
 
 "Then came the thought, 'What is the 
 
 crown 
 Of youth — what gives the man renown ? 
 For what have those brave heroes panted. 
 Whose deeds are by our minstrels chanted ? 
 What was it threw celestial blaze 
 Round the blind heathen in old days. 
 But that to death their prowess hurled 
 The monsters that laid waste the world? 
 They met the lion knee to knee. 
 And with the Minotaurs contended, 
 
38 Schiller. 
 
 To set their hapless victims free, 
 And lavishly their blood expended. 
 
 " ' Is then alone the Paynim horde 
 Worthy to flesh the Christian's sword ? 
 Or idols, or false gods ? We see, it 
 Is his high call on earth to free it, 
 By the bold vigour of his arm, 
 From every blight and every harm. 
 But skill must be with daring mated, 
 And giant force by cunning baited.' 
 Thus spake I oftentimes, and hied 
 
 Where lay the monster couching grimly, — ■ 
 ' I see, I see a way 1 ' I cried. 
 
 As on my brain a light broke dimly. 
 
 "Then to your Grace I came and said, 
 ' Fain would I to my home be sped.' 
 Thou didst consent, and soon, proud heaving. 
 My bark the salt sea foam was cleaving. 
 Scarce pressed my foot its native strand, 
 Till I had by the craftsman's hand 
 A dragon-form constructed duly, 
 In every feature fashioned truly. 
 
The Fight with the Dragon. 39 
 
 On stunted feet it reared the weight 
 Of its huge bulk, outstretching vastly ; 
 
 Its back with many a scaly plait 
 
 Of steel was lined, defence full ghastly. 
 
 " Its neck shoots forward many an ell ; 
 And grimly, as the throat of hell. 
 Its dreadful jaws gape wide asunder, 
 Expecting greedily their plunder. 
 And, lining the black gulf, expose 
 Sharp-pointed fangs in triple rows. 
 A trenchant blade its tongue resembles, — 
 Lightning in its small red eyes trembles ; 
 Its monstrous length of back behind 
 
 Ends snakelike, and, still circling wider, 
 In many a hideous fold is twined. 
 
 Would crush and shatter horse and rider. 
 
 "All this I shape, exact as may, 
 
 And clothe it in a dingy grey ; 
 
 Half snake, half dragon seemed it, gotten 
 
 In fen empoisoned and rotten ; 
 
 And, when the image was complete. 
 
 Two dogs I chose me, that were fleet, 
 
40 Schiller. 
 
 Alert, strong-flanked, and sharp of eyne— would 
 Pull down the wild boar in the greenwood : — 
 These on the snake I loose ; then call 
 
 Them on, till, with wild passion burning. 
 They fix him with their teeth, to all 
 
 My orders with submission turning. 
 
 " And where its belly, soft beneath. 
 
 Left free an entrance for their teeth, 
 
 I gave them aim to spring up to it, 
 
 And strike their sharp fangs fiercely through it ; 
 
 Whilst I on my brave Arab steed, — 
 
 The desert-born of noble breed, — 
 
 With spear in hand impatient vaulted. 
 
 And stirred his blood, nor ever halted 
 
 But forward on the dragon sprung. 
 
 Deep in his flanks I dashed my rowels. 
 And my good boar-spear firmly flung 
 
 Right home into the monster's bowels. 
 
 " Although my barb in terror reared, 
 
 And foamed and plunged — although afeared 
 
 My dogs hung back, I never rested. 
 
 Till horse and hound would freely breast it. 
 
The Fight ivith the Dragon. 41 
 
 Thus daily, hourly, were they trained, 
 Till thrice the moon had waxed and waned ; 
 And, when they knew the task before them. 
 Hither my swift-winged vessels bore them. 
 Thrice has the morning trimmed her vest 
 
 Since to these shores we came unheeded ; 
 Scarce might I give my limbs to rest, 
 
 Till I the mighty work had speeded. 
 
 " For my heart burned and rose to hear 
 Of fresh disaster, wail, and fear — 
 Of herds destroyed tales scattered widely, 
 That to the swamp had wandered idly; 
 And I no more delay might brook, 
 But counsel of my heart I took, 
 My wishes to my knaves recounted, 
 My trusty coal-black steed remounted, 
 And on by covert pathways, where 
 
 Was none to mark my course, attended 
 By my brave hounds — a noble pair — 
 
 To meet the foe full blithely wended. 
 
 "The Oratory, sire, thou know'st — 
 Some daring master-spirit's boast — 
 
42 Schiller. 
 
 That caps the Felsberg ; all the island 
 
 Lies stretched beneath it, mead and high land : 
 
 A sorry place it seems, and mean, 
 
 But there a wondrous work is seen, — 
 
 Boy Jesu, with his mother holy, 
 
 And, near, the Three Kings bending lowly. 
 
 Up by thrice thirty steps must climb 
 
 The pilgrim to the beetling summit ; 
 But viewing there that work sublime. 
 
 Drinks comfort and refreshment from it. 
 
 " Deep in the cliffs, that spot anear, 
 There is a cavern, dank and drear, 
 In foul and steaming marshes centred, 
 By light of sunbeam never entered, — 
 The monster's den — where, night and day. 
 It couched, and grimly eyed its prey : 
 Thus, like infernal dragon, keeping. 
 Fast by God's house, its watch unsleeping. 
 And when the pilgrim hied him o'er 
 
 The fen, nor dreamt of wiles perfidious, 
 Out from its lair it sprang, and tore 
 
 Him off to death with routings hideous. 
 
The Fight with the Dragon. 43 
 
 " With early dawn I clomb the rock, 
 Or e'er I girt me for the shock — 
 To the boy Saviour knelt, confessing 
 My numbered sins, and sought his blessing. 
 Anon, in casque and harness dight, 
 I wend me downwards to the fight, 
 With a tough brace of lances furnished, 
 And mail of proof, all brightly burnished; 
 I give my last commands, — bid halt 
 
 My train of faithful squires attending, 
 Then on my steed up lightly vault, 
 
 My soul to Heaven's sweet grace commending. 
 
 " Scarce was I set upon the plain. 
 When on the start my hounds 'gan strain. 
 And my brave barb hung back affrighted, 
 Reared, plunged, and hand and rowel slighted ; 
 For, gathered in a coil, they spy 
 Where lay the fearful foe hard by. 
 And in the glowing sunshine basked him ; 
 On flew my hounds, and hotly tasked him^ — 
 But back recoiled like lightning, when 
 It raised its fell jaws wide asunder, 
 
44 Schiller. 
 
 Breathed out its poison o'er the fen, 
 And shook the woods with roar of thunder. 
 
 " Cheered by my voice, soon all aglow 
 
 They turn with fury on the foe ; 
 
 I grasp my spear, a moment whirl it, 
 
 Then at the creature's shoulders hurl it. 
 
 Like a frail reed it turns aside 
 
 From the dread monster's scaly hide, 
 
 And, ere the blow could be repeated. 
 
 My steed reared upwards and retreated, 
 
 And from the basilisk-like glare, 
 
 And breath exhaling plague and fever, 
 Sprang back in wild dismay, and there, 
 
 My doom had nigh been sealed for ever. 
 
 " Down from my seat I leapt prepared — 
 
 A moment saw my faulchion bared : 
 
 Stroke followed stroke, but all fell printless — 
 
 Its hide of stony proof was dintless. 
 
 Sweeping its furious tail around, 
 
 It caught, and flung me to the ground : — 
 
 Now were its jaws distended o'er me, 
 
 Its horrid teeth all bare before me ; 
 
The Fight with the Dragon. 45 
 
 When, mad with rage, on spring my hounds, 
 Its paunch with fang remorseless tearing ; 
 
 It turns — and through the air resounds 
 Its howl of pain and wild despairing. 
 
 " And, while 'twas staggered by the smart, 
 Up from the earth with speed I start. 
 And forward, where 'twas fenceless lounging, 
 Strike home, deep in its entrails plunging 
 My faulchion to the hilt. A tide 
 Of pitchy gore spurts from its side ; 
 It sinks, and I beneath its massive 
 Bulk lay buried, stunned, and passive. 
 Faint with the shock I swooned away. 
 
 And when I woke, to Heaven be glory ! 
 My squires stood round, and near me lay 
 
 The dragon dead, all grim and gory." 
 
 He ceased : and now from every breast 
 The tide of rapture, long repressed. 
 Broke forth, in acclamations pealing, 
 That, struck back from the groined ceiling. 
 Rolled onward to the press without, 
 Which caught and echoed back the shout. 
 
46 Schiller. 
 
 The knights throng round, preparing loudly 
 To wreathe the hero's temples proudly ; 
 The grateful crowd about him flit, 
 
 And praise from mouth to mouth is bandied ; 
 When lo ! the Master sternly knit 
 
 His brows, and silence round commanded. 
 
 And said, " Thou'st slain with doughty hand 
 The scourge, the terror of the land ; 
 Made thee a god to man and woman, 
 Yet com'st thou back thy Order's foeman ; 
 For thy untempered heart has bred 
 A dragon far more foul and dread, 
 That in its venomed folds has bound it — 
 One that sows bale and discord round it — 
 That stubborn will which spurns the reins 
 
 Of sage control, and, bent on ruin. 
 Throws from it order's holy chains, 
 
 And mads the world to its undoing. 
 
 "Courage shows e'en the Paynim race, 
 Obedience is the Christian's grace ; 
 For where the Lord, our duty's standard, 
 In likeness of a servant wandered. 
 
The Fight with the Dragon. 47 
 
 On holy ground devoutly bowed, 
 The fathers of our Order vowed — 
 Hardest of mortal tasks — to bridle 
 Their wills rebellious and idle. 
 Thy spur hath been ambition's mood, 
 
 Therefore avoid thee from my presence ! 
 Unworthy he to wear the rood, 
 
 Who doth deny its laws obeisance.'' 
 
 Then burst amain, throughout the hall, 
 An angry roar ; — the brethren all 
 Entreat for grace, but, bending meekly, 
 Utters the youth no murmur weakly. 
 He doffs his stole in silence, and 
 Kisses the Master's ruthless hand. 
 And goes. He with affection eyes him — 
 Recalls him; and, while back he hies him, 
 Says thus — " Come to my arms, my son ; 
 
 Well hast thou quit thee in disaster : 
 Receive this cross — the guerdon won 
 
 By mind that is its passion's master ! " 
 
48 
 
 F R I D O L I N. 
 
 A GENTLE page was Fridolin, 
 
 And in God's fear was he 
 Intent his lady's grace to win, 
 
 Count Savern's fair ladye. 
 Oh ! she was kind — so kind and good ! 
 But even caprice's tyrant mood 
 He would have borne, and borne it cheerly. 
 For Jesus' sake, who bought him dearly. 
 
 From early break of morning till 
 
 The toll of vesper chime, 
 He gave her, with good heart and will. 
 
 The service of his prime. 
 " Nay, toil not so," the dame would cry; 
 Then would the tears start to his eye— 
 For zeal alone, he thought, to duty 
 Gave all its excellence and beauty. 
 
Fridolin. 49 
 
 And therefore did the Countess raise 
 
 Him o'er her menials all, 
 And from her beauteous lips his praise 
 
 Unceasingly would fall. 
 He in her heart the office more 
 Of son than page or servant bore j 
 His comely form each grace united, 
 And on him oft she'd gaze delighted. 
 
 Now, in the huntsman, Robert, this 
 
 Woke wrath and hate accursed, 
 For envy's smouldering fires in his 
 Black breast he long had nursed. 
 Urged by the fiend, he sought the Count 
 As he did from the chase dismount. 
 And thus, in tones that smoothly flattered. 
 The seeds of dark suspicion scattered. 
 
 " Oh, my good lord "• — thus he arrayed 
 His toils — " how are you blest ! 
 
 Doubts, spectral phantoms, ne'er invade 
 Your golden hours of rest, 
 
 For you possess a noble dame, 
 
 Of virtues rare, and spotless fame. 
 
 D 
 
50 Schiller. 
 
 Vain were it all, that daring wooer 
 Should with his subtle wiles pursue her." 
 
 Dark gloomed the Count — he was full wroth — 
 
 " How now ! — what mean ye, knave ? 
 Shall I put faith in woman's troth, 
 That shifts as shifts the wave — 
 What every flatterer's tongue can sway ? 
 My trust, I ween, hath surer stay — 
 Here's none to tempt with artful wooing 
 Count Savern's dame to her undoing." 
 
 Quoth Robert — " Right, my master — you'll 
 
 But think it worth your scorn. 
 That he — O Heavens ! presumptuous fool ! 
 
 A thrall, a minion bom — 
 Should court with smiles and phrases trim 
 His lady, who has fostered him ! " 
 " What ! " cries the Count, with passion choking, 
 " Lives yet the man of whom thou'st spoken?" 
 
 " My Lord not heard what runs the round 
 Of every mouth ! But, true. 
 
Fridolin. 5 1 
 
 You'd have the tale in silence drowned — 
 
 Well, I'll be secret too ! " 
 " Speak, or thou diest the death, base liar ! 
 Who dares to Cunegond aspire ? " 
 He grasped his faulchion, and half drew it. — 
 "Yon whey-faced page — methought ye knew it. 
 
 " It is a shapely youth, I wot " — 
 
 Thus went his glozing tongue, 
 While through the listener's veins, now hot. 
 
 Now cold, the quick blood sprung. 
 " Nay, nay, you must have noted, sir. 
 How he has eyes for none but her ; 
 And o'er her chair at table seen him 
 With air of love-sick wooer lean him. 
 
 " And then the verses which he wrote. 
 
 Where he avowed his flame ! " 
 " Avowed ? " — " And a return besought, 
 
 Dead to all touch of shame ! 
 Your gentle dame, in pity, hath 
 Been mute, to screen him from your wrath — 
 Would to the fact you'd still been stranger ! 
 For what have you to dread of danger ? " 
 
52 Schiller. 
 
 Away the Count in frenzy rode 
 
 Into a neighbouring wood, 
 Where, belching flames that redly glowed, 
 
 An iron foundry stood. 
 Here his bold serfs with sweltering hands 
 Piled, day and night, the blazing brands ; 
 Sparks flew about, and bellows roaring 
 Sent ores in molten torrents pouring. 
 
 The force of fire and water blent 
 
 Gave out a brawling sound, 
 Wheels, driven by hissing waters, went 
 
 Aye clattering round and round. 
 By day, by night, the works within, 
 Rose up a stupefying din 
 Of clanking hammers, which descended 
 Till even the stubborn iron bended. 
 
 Two of his men he beckons near, 
 And thus assigns their task — 
 
 "The first whom I shall send you here. 
 That of you this shall ask — 
 
 ' Are the Count's orders speeded well ? ' 
 
 Him cast into yon seething hell. 
 
Fridolin. 53 
 
 Till flesh and bone to dust are cindered — 
 So shall my 'hests no more be hindered." 
 
 With fiendish glee the inhuman pair 
 
 Receive their lord's behests, 
 For senseless as the iron were 
 
 Their hearts within their breasts. 
 And now they heap the furnace fire, 
 With panting bellows urge it higher, 
 And, on the restless flashes glaring. 
 Stand for the sacrifice preparing. 
 
 Says Robert now to Fridolin, 
 
 In accents smoothly sleek, 
 " Up, comrade mine, and get ye in — 
 
 The Count with you would speak ! " 
 The Count, he bids him — " Do not wait. 
 But hie thee to the foundry straight, 
 And ask — my men will understand it — 
 If they have done as I commanded." 
 
 " Even so ! " repUed the page, and would 
 Have gone, when suddenly 
 
54 Schiller. 
 
 He paused — " How if my lady should 
 
 Have some commands for me ? " 
 He seeks the dame, and, bending low, 
 Says — " I must to the foundry go. 
 That stands upon the forest's borders ; 
 But, ere I go, I wait your orders." 
 
 Then answered him the dame again 
 
 With gentle voice — " Alas ! 
 My son is sick, or I would fain 
 
 Have heard the holy mass. 
 Go thou, my child, and let me not 
 Be in thy orisons forgot ; 
 And so shall I partake the sentence, 
 That crowns with pardon thy repentance." 
 
 Glad of the welcome task, he lost 
 
 No time, but forward sped ; 
 But, as he through the village crossed 
 
 With rapid step, o'erhead 
 He heard the minster's solemn bell 
 Through the still air serenely swell, 
 Bidding frail souls, in concord mystic 
 To share the banquet eucharistic. 
 
Fridolin. S 5 
 
 " Shun not the call of power divine, 
 
 When 'tis before thee set ! " 
 He says, and turns into the shrine. 
 
 Here nought is stirring yet ; 
 For now the harvest toil begun 
 Keeps all men busy in the sun, 
 And neither clerk nor choir advances, 
 To chant the service and responses. 
 
 Eftsoons, to fill the sacrist's post. 
 
 Young Fridolin did go — 
 "The time,'' he said, "is never lost. 
 
 Which we on Heaven bestow." 
 Then to the priest he speeds anon, 
 And girds his stole and cincture on. 
 Prepares, with holy zeal elated, 
 The cups and vessels consecrated. 
 
 These duties ended, at command 
 
 He stept the priest before. 
 Along the aisle, and in his hand 
 
 The sacred missal bore ; 
 Knelt right, knelt left, before the altar. 
 Did in no single duty falter, 
 
56 Schiller. 
 
 And when the Sanctus was repeated, 
 Sounded his bell three times to greet it. 
 
 And when the priest, with awe devout, 
 
 Bent low, then reverently 
 In his uplifted hands held out 
 
 The present deity, 
 Tink, tinkle, went the sacrist's bell ; 
 Stirred by its sound, men's bosoms swell, 
 And to the host all lowly kneeling 
 Beat on their breasts with contrite feeling. 
 
 What else the office asked he wrought. 
 
 He failed not in the least — 
 His mind these hallowed forms had caught, 
 
 Nor tired he, when the priest. 
 The mass and service ended thus, 
 Gave the Vobiscum Dominus, 
 And, God's unbounded grace confessing, 
 Dismissed the people with a blessing. 
 
 He saw each vessel, where 'twas kept, 
 In safety placed anew, 
 
Fridolin. 57 
 
 The sanctuary next he swept, 
 
 Then from the church withdrew ; 
 And now, serene of soul and gay, 
 Made for the forge, and on his way. 
 Because their tale was uncompleted. 
 Twelve paternosters more repeated. 
 
 He gained the reeking forge, and spied 
 
 The workmen near it stand— 
 " Ho, now ! my men, have you,'' he cried, 
 
 " Fulfilled the Count's command ? " 
 They turn, and, with a hideous grin. 
 Point to the raging gulf within — 
 "He's safe enough, and stowed securely; 
 The Count will praise his servants surely.'' 
 
 With hurrying step, and mind at war, 
 
 Back to his lord he hies ; 
 He sees him coming from afar, 
 
 And scarce may trust his eyes. 
 " Unhappy boy, whence comest thou ? " 
 " Sir, from the iron-foundry." " How ! — 
 Thou hast been loitering, then ? " "I waited 
 For prayer and service consecrated. 
 
58 Schiller. 
 
 " For, ere I bent me to your task, 
 
 I sought your dame to see — 
 For this, methought, did duty ask^ 
 
 If she would aught with me. 
 She bids me go to mass, and I, 
 Well pleased with the behest, comply ; 
 And there for her and your uncumbered 
 Weal, my beads four times I numbered." 
 
 The Count fell back in deep dismay — 
 
 The colour left his cheek — 
 "And to thy question what said they. 
 
 The foundry workmen ? — Speak.'' 
 " Darkly they spoke — to the furnace red 
 They pointed with a grin, and said — 
 ' He's safe enough, and stowed securely ; 
 The Count will praise his servants surely.'" 
 
 " And Robert," cried with mind on rack 
 The Count, and trembling stood — 
 
 " Met ye him not, as ye came back? 
 I sent him to the wood." 
 
 " Sir, nor by wood nor meadow green 
 
 Have, I a trace of Robert seen." 
 
Fridolin. 59 
 
 " Now," cries the Count — smit with contrition — 
 " Here may we read Heaven's own decision." 
 
 Then to his dame, to whom unknown 
 
 Was all had passed, he led 
 Her gentle page, and thus in tone 
 
 Of deep emotion, said : 
 " Be ever gracious to this child : 
 No angel is more undefiled. 
 Though we may deal ungently by him, 
 God and His saints are ever nigh him." 
 
6o 
 
 PEGASUS IN HARNESS. 
 
 A POET, says the tale, whose empty scrip 
 
 Told to the world, as palpably as could be, 
 That cruel Fortune had him on the hip — 
 
 Alack, that poets at her mercy should be ! — 
 Was forced to sell the Muses' courser once ; 
 And, full of mettle, sleek in coat, and tidy, 
 He drove it to a fair, which, for the nonce. 
 We may suppose was Smithfield on a Friday. 
 
 The Hippogryph, with nostrils wide, 
 
 Flung high his crest, with proud impatience 
 snorting ; 
 The crowd stood round amazed, and cried — 
 
 " A noble beast i' faith ! What sad misfortune 
 His handsome form should be disfigured so 
 
 By these unsightly wings ! They spoil the 
 creature ! " 
 
Pegasus in Harness. 6i 
 
 " I'll swear," quoth Giles, " he's right good stuff 
 to go: 
 And in a stage-coach nothing could be neater." 
 "High breeding," cries Dick Spavin, "blood for 
 twenty ! " 
 " But then, what signifies it all ? " says Ralph ; 
 " Balloons for visiting the stars are plenty, 
 
 And for a toy he costs too much by half." 
 At length a farmer, bolder than the rest, 
 
 Takes heart and says, "The wings, 'tis true, 'od 
 
 rot 'em. 
 Are useless quite ; but we can bind or cut 'em. 
 And then the horse will draw you with the best; 
 I'll give you twenty pounds, and take my chance 
 
 on't." 
 The dealer, nothing loath, at once shakes hands 
 
 on't— 
 "Well, well, friend, 'tis a bargain ! " cries, 
 And Hodge trots briskly homewards with his prize. 
 
 The gallant courser is in harness placed, 
 
 But scarcely feels the unusual weight behind him. 
 When, spurning at the trammels that confined 
 him. 
 
62 Schiller. 
 
 Away, away he scours in maddening haste, 
 And, with a noble indignation burning, 
 Curvets and rears, cart, Hodge, and all o'erturning 
 Close by the brow of an abyss. 
 " A pretty piece of work," thought Hodge, " I've 
 
 made of this ! 
 However, wisdom from the past I'll borrow. 
 
 And scarcely trust him at such jobs again; 
 But there's a coach of mine to run to-morrow, 
 
 And I shall make him leader in the wain. 
 He'll save my other nags, besides ; they are but 
 
 laggers. 
 For, when age comes, we can't keep off the 
 staggers." 
 
 At first all goes quite smoothly — nothing wrong — 
 The nags trot smartly on — the wingfed steed, 
 
 His load scarce felt, before them gaily ambling. 
 
 The coach with arrowy swiftness flies along ; 
 But mark the end, and well the lesson read I 
 
 Feeling — the while his eyes were heavenward 
 rambling — 
 
 The unyielding earth beneath him strange and new, 
 Off from the safe and beaten track he starts. 
 
Pegasus in Harness. 63 
 
 And, to his nature's stronger impulse true, 
 
 Like lightning over moss and moor he darts, 
 Across ploughed fieldsj bogs, hedges, ditches, 
 
 scrambling. 
 The whole team into wild confusion cast 
 
 Joins in the mad career; — in vain Hodge 
 
 strains 
 His throat, and tugs with fury at the reins — 
 Till, to its inmates' sore affright, at last 
 The crazy coach, now jolted all to pieces, 
 Its course upon a mountain's headlong summit 
 ceases. 
 
 " Was ever such a cross-grained brute, ye saints ! " 
 
 Quoth Hodge, and scratched his head with 
 puzzled air — 
 " It's clear, that this won't do at all events ; 
 
 We'll see if double work and meagre fare 
 Can't bring this saucy humour into training." 
 The trial's made. Despite of his complaining. 
 
 Our courser to an empty rack is bitted, 
 And, ere three days were past, lost all his cheer. 
 
 And wasted to a shadow. " Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 I've hit it!" 
 
64 Schiller. 
 
 Cries Hodge in glee. " Now, quick and bring't me 
 
 here, 
 Yoked in the plough beside my sturdiest steer.'' 
 So said, so done. And scurvy jests were broken, 
 Upon this odd and ill-assorted yoking. 
 
 The indignant griffin strives to break away, 
 
 And to his native air once more ascend. 
 In vain ! His yokemate plods his onward way, 
 
 And Phcebus' haughty steed must to his humour 
 bend. 
 When now, by such long contradiction spent. 
 
 His fainting limbs refuse their former trust. 
 And lo ! poor Pegasus, with sorrow bent, 
 
 Down on his knees and rolling in the dust ! 
 " Curse you ! " cries Hodge in fury, and 'gins wield 
 
 His merciless lash ; " and so it would appear 
 That you are even too weak to plough a field ? 
 
 I wish I had the rogue that sold you here ! " 
 
 Thus speaks the boor, and deals in vengeful wrath 
 Blow thick on blow, when, lifting up his glance, 
 
 He spies a comely youth along the path 
 
 With smiling eyes and buoyant step advance. 
 
Pegasus in Harness. 65 
 
 In his light hand a sounding lyre reclined, 
 
 And through the clusters of his saffron hair 
 A circlet of bright gold was seen entwined. 
 
 " Hilloa, my friend ! where got you that strange 
 pair ? " 
 Cries he, approaching the gruff peasant lout : 
 
 " The bird and ox yoked in the plough together ! 
 Tell me, I pray thee, how this comes about ? 
 
 I'd like to try just for a little, whether 
 I can't make something of this horse of thine. 
 Now mark, — a sight I'll show you rare and fine ! " 
 
 The hippogryph is loosed amain, 
 And on his back the youth vaults with a smile. 
 
 Soon as it feels its master's hand again, 
 
 It champs the bit and tugs the rein. 
 Keen lightnings flashing from its eyes the while. 
 
 No more the thing it was, with stately sweep, 
 
 A spirit — a god, it scales the steep 
 Of ether, and on rushing pinions driven. 
 
 Up to the sky it shoots with dauntless force. 
 
 And, ere the eye can track it on its course. 
 Fades in the azure heights of heaven. 
 
66 
 
 RITTER TOGGENBURG. 
 
 " TONIGHT ! In my heart you bear the part, a 
 
 brother's love might gain, 
 Oh ! do not claim a dearer name ! It gives me 
 
 mickle pain. 
 My breast is calm, when you are gone, nor throbs 
 
 when you are nigh ; 
 Your cheek is wet, you weep — and yet I may not 
 
 rede me why." 
 
 He spoke not, but in anguish heard his cruel fate 
 
 decreed ; — 
 One kiss, one long last look he gave, then vaulted 
 
 on his steed. 
 He has sent a call to his vassals allj — they come, a 
 
 gallant band, 
 The red cross pressed on each manly breast, to fight 
 
 for the Holy Land. 
 
Ritter Toggenburg. 6^ 
 
 And soon there rung, the hosts among, their feats of 
 
 valour done, 
 And ever bright in thickest fight their plumfed 
 
 helmets shone. 
 The infidel his vaunts would quell at Roland's 
 
 dreaded name, 
 But no relief for his bosom's grief found he in strife 
 
 or fame. 
 
 A year he bore it, but no more could he his pangs 
 
 withstand, 
 In field or prayer, her form was there ; — he leaves 
 
 his gallant band. 
 A stout ship lay at Joppa's shore, her sails swing in 
 
 the breeze, 
 And away to the land of his ladye love he has sailed 
 
 across the seas. 
 
 At her castle gate, with hope elate, he stood, and 
 
 pale his brow. 
 Half-fearing knocked — it was unlocked. Oh, Heaven 
 
 support him now ! 
 
68 Schiller. 
 
 "She whom you seek now wears the veil, is 
 
 Heaven's affianced bride, 
 For yesternight with holy rite was she to God 
 
 allied ! " 
 
 He has turned him from the stately halls of his bold 
 
 ancestry. 
 His shield, and glaive, and destrier brave he never 
 
 more shall see. 
 He wanders on to all unknown, so altered is his 
 
 mien, 
 For his noble limbs are closely wrapped in a hairy 
 
 gaberdine. 
 
 And he built a hut hard by the spot where the old 
 convent stood, 
 
 From sight half hid, dark elms amid, within a frown- 
 ing wood ; 
 
 And there alway, from break of day till its last streak 
 was gone, 
 
 He sat with calm expectant look unweariedly alone. 
 
 He looked o'er to the convent old, looked hour on 
 hour in hope 
 
Ritter Toggenburg. 69 
 
 To the casement of his love, until he saw the case- 
 ment ope, 
 
 Till she, his ladye bright, appeared, till the form he 
 loved so well 
 
 Bent o'er with face of angel grace to gaze into the 
 dell. 
 
 Then cheerfully he laid him down, his peaceful rest 
 to take, 
 
 Contemplating the hour with joy, when morn again 
 should break. 
 
 And so for days on days he sat, for years on years in 
 hope, 
 
 Expecting, still unmurmuring, till he saw the case- 
 ment ope. 
 
 Till she, his ladye bright, appeared, till the form he 
 
 loved so well 
 Bent o'er with face of angel grace to gaze into the 
 
 dell: 
 And so one morning found him set, a corpse all stiff 
 
 and cold. 
 His eyeballs glazed still calmly gazed upon that 
 
 casement old. 
 
70 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 O EE yonder castles old and hoar, 
 
 Each fronting each from either shore, 
 
 Bathed in the sunshine's gold, 
 Where, storming through the Dardanelles' 
 High rocky gates, the tide that swells 
 
 The Hellespont is rolled. 
 Hark ! how against the rocks they roar. 
 
 The waves that seethe and eddy there ; 
 Though Asia they from Europe tore, 
 
 Yet love they could not scare. 
 
 Through Hero's and Leander's hearts 
 God Eros winged his fiery darts 
 
 With love's sweet anguish tipped : 
 Hero, as Hebe fair was she, 
 And o'er the mountains ranging he 
 
 His hunting mates outstripped. 
 
Hero and Leander. 71 
 
 But out, alas ! their parents' feud 
 Forbade this plighted pair to meet, 
 
 And only at life's peril could 
 They win love's fruitage sweet. 
 
 On Sestos' rock-tower, round whose base 
 The billows rush in endless chase, 
 
 And fling on high their foam. 
 The maiden sat, a-dread, alone, 
 Her gaze toward Abydos thrown. 
 
 Which was her lover's home. 
 Alas ! no bridge to yon far strand 
 
 Is there the wanderer to convey ; 
 No pinnace there puts out from land. 
 
 Yet love found out a way. 
 
 Out of the labyrinth love led 
 Great Theseus with unerring thread, 
 
 Can fools with wit inspire, 
 Bends savage cattle to the yoke, 
 To cleave with diamond ploughshare broke 
 
 The steers that snorted fire. 
 Not Styx's stream, ninefold and black. 
 
 The dauntless Heracles appals. 
 
72 Schiller. 
 
 That bore the bride triumphant back 
 From Pluto's gloomy halls. 
 
 Leander thus, with heart on fire, 
 And goaded by love's sweet desire. 
 
 The weltering waters braves ; 
 When day's bright sheen begins to wane, 
 The daring swimmer leaps amain 
 
 Into the darkling waves. 
 With stalwart arms he daffs them by. 
 
 Intent to gain the strand so dear, 
 When from the turret flashing high 
 
 The beacon-torch shines clear. 
 
 Anon, within his mistress' arms. 
 She with her close caresses warms 
 
 The limbs the waves have chilled. 
 For danger past meet guerdon this, 
 That steeps him, soul and sense, in bliss. 
 
 All through with rapture thrilled ; 
 Lingering, till dawn steals on apace. 
 
 Awakes him from his blissful dream, 
 And scares him from his love's embrace 
 
 To Pontus' icy stream. 
 
Hero and Leander. 73 
 
 Thus thirty suns flew by, and still 
 
 Of stolen delights they snatched their fill, 
 
 Delights that never cloyed, — 
 Each night to them a bridal night — 
 The gods might envy such delight. 
 
 So fresh, so unalloyed. 
 A perfect rapture no one knows, 
 
 Who ne'er has plucked, while none might tell. 
 With stealthy hand the fruit that grows 
 
 On the dread river marge of hell. 
 
 So days and nights went swiftly by 
 Alternate o'er the arching sky ; 
 
 The happy lovers, they 
 Mark not the leaves that thickly fall, 
 And from its ice-bound northern hall 
 
 Grim winter making way. 
 They saw with joy, these happy wights. 
 
 The days, how shorter still they grew, 
 And blindly thanked great Jove for nights 
 
 Of lengthened joys in view. 
 
 Now came the time, when night and day 
 O'er all the heavens hold equal sway. 
 
74 Schiller. 
 
 And from her rocky keep 
 Fair Hero watched with wistful eye 
 The sun's steeds sweeping down the sky, 
 
 To plunge into the deep. 
 And mirror-smooth beneath her swayed 
 
 The ocean, lulled in calm serene, 
 While not a breeze across it played, 
 
 To mar its crystal sheen. 
 
 And dolphins there, a jocund throng, 
 The sparkling silvery waves along 
 
 Wheel round and round in sport ; 
 And upward from the nether deeps 
 Rose the gay band, which Thetis keeps 
 
 To guard her ocean-court. 
 To them alone has been revealed 
 
 The tie which these two lovers knit, 
 But Hecate to silence sealed 
 
 The lips might blab of it. 
 
 'Twas joy that ocean fair to see, 
 And thus in flattering tones did she 
 Invoke its lord divine : 
 
Hero and Leander. 75 
 
 " Sweet god ! Thou false and faithless ? No ! 
 As such I brand the wretch, that so 
 
 Thy godhead should malign ! 
 Mankind are faithless through and through, 
 
 And fathers' hearts are hard as steel ; 
 But thine is gentle, kind, and true, 
 
 And for love's pangs can feel. 
 
 "Within these dreary walls of stone 
 Must I, uncheered, unwooed, alone, 
 
 Have withered in despair ; 
 Bridge there was none, nor galley's prow, 
 Still to my arms my lover thou 
 
 Didst on thy shoulders bear. 
 Thy nether deeps are grim and drear. 
 
 And fearful is thy angry wave. 
 But love's beseechings win thine ear, 
 
 And thou befriend'st the brave. 
 
 " For Eros' shafts touched even thy heart, 
 Great God of Ocean though thou art, 
 
 When Hell6, fair as morn, 
 Was, with her brother flying, by 
 The Ram, whose fleece was golden, high 
 
 Across thy waters borne. 
 
^6 Schiller. 
 
 Smit by her charms, up from the black 
 Abysses swiftly didst thou leap, 
 
 And swept her from the creature's back 
 Down to thy lowest deep. 
 
 " A goddess with a god, she now. 
 Immortal from that hour as thou, 
 
 In her sea-grots abides ; 
 Shields lovers when their foes pursue. 
 Calms thy tempestuous moods, and to 
 
 His port the sailor guides. 
 O beauteous Hell^, goddess bright, 
 
 Blest in thine own love, bring, I pray. 
 My lover to ray arms to-night 
 
 Safe by the wonted way ! " 
 
 Now o'er the sea did darkness lour. 
 And Hero kindled on her tower 
 
 The torch that, flashing bright, 
 Bade her belovbd pilgrim haste 
 Across the waters' weltering waste, 
 
 Led by its trusty light. 
 Far off a moaning sound is heard. 
 
 The stars are blotted from the sky. 
 
Hero and Leander. 7y 
 
 The darkling waves are inly stirred, 
 The tempest-shock draws nigh. 
 
 Night settles on the watery plain, 
 
 And from the thund'rous clouds the rain 
 
 In drenching torrents pours, 
 Forked lightnings flash along the air, 
 And, bursting from their rocky lair. 
 
 Blast thick on storm-blast roars. 
 Huge gulfs in the wide ocean-swell 
 
 Are rent as with convulsive spasm. 
 And, yawning like the jaws of hell, 
 
 Gape widely, chasm on chasm. 
 
 " Woe, woe is me ! " she shrieked. " O thou 
 Great Jove, have mercy on me now ! 
 
 Mad were my words ! Woe's me ! 
 Oh, if the gods have heard my prayer. 
 And he, despite the tempest there. 
 
 Has braved the treacherous sea ! 
 Birds trained to ocean's angry mood 
 
 Fly homewards swiftly as they may. 
 And ships, that many a storm have stood. 
 
 Make for the sheltering bay. 
 
78 Schiller. 
 
 " Oh, he that never quailed, once more 
 Has dared what oft he dared before ; 
 
 This morn he pledged his troth, 
 
 • By love's great god, to-night he would 
 
 Return, and death, death only should 
 
 Release him from his oath ! 
 And now, ay, even now, is he 
 
 At grips with this fell storm, I know ; 
 'Tis dragging him, that raging sea, 
 
 Down to the depths below. 
 
 " False Pontus, thy repose erewhile 
 Was but a mask to veil thy guile ! 
 
 As mirror smooth wert thou ; 
 Thy waves were cunning-calm, till they 
 To venture forth had lured their prey. 
 
 Whom they are whelming now. 
 Midway in thy wild eddies caught, 
 
 Return, go-o'er, both hopeless made, 
 Thy eyery horror dire is wrought 
 
 On him thou hast betrayed ! " 
 
 Louder and louder grew the blast. 
 The billows mountain-high upcast 
 
Hero and Leander. yg 
 
 Break foaming on the rocks. 
 Even galleys ribbed with stoutest oak, 
 Driven shoreward where these billows broke, 
 
 Had shattered with the shocks. 
 The torch that was to light his way 
 
 Dies in the gale ; and everywhere. 
 On sea, on shore, turn where he may, 
 
 Are horror and despair. 
 
 She prays that Aphrodite will 
 Command the hurricane to still 
 
 The angry waves till morn, 
 And vows rich sacrifice to burn, 
 To all the ruthless winds in turn 
 
 A steer with golden horn. 
 All goddesses that ocean sway. 
 
 All gods in the high heavens that be, 
 She supplicates, the storms to stay 
 
 That vex the raging sea. 
 
 " O blest Leucothoe, arise 
 From thy green halls, and hear my cries ! 
 Thou saviour goddess, whom 
 
8o Schiller. 
 
 Full oft the sinking marinere 
 Hath seen on ocean's waste appear, 
 
 To rescue him from doom. 
 Stretch forth to him thy sacred veil, 
 
 That, woven and blest by mystic charms, 
 If he but clutch, safe through the gale 
 
 Will bear him to my arms." 
 
 Now the wild winds to rest are hushed, 
 And the horizon, faintly flushed. 
 
 Tells Eos' steeds are nigh ; 
 Serene and glassy-smooth the deep 
 Seems in its ancient bed to sleep. 
 
 And bright smile sea and sky. 
 Around the rocks the wavelets sway, 
 
 In silence rippling each on each, 
 And float up, as they calmly play, 
 
 A body on the beach. 
 
 'Tis he, who even in death forlorn 
 Has kept the oath that he had sworn. 
 One glance, and all is known ! 
 
Hero and Leander. 8i 
 
 No wailing cry her anguish speaks, 
 
 No tears stream down her bloodless cheeks, 
 
 Despair has made her stone. 
 With hopeless stare she seems to scan 
 
 The bright sky, the blank ocean-flow. 
 And to her face so marble-wan 
 
 There mounts a noble glow. 
 
 " Dread Powers, I see your workings here. 
 With force implacable, austere, 
 
 You urge your rights divine. 
 Swift close to my life's course is this, 
 Yet I have drunk rich draughts of bliss, 
 
 A glorious lot was mine. 
 Living, within thy shrine have I 
 
 Thy consecrated priestess been ; 
 A joyful sacrifice I die, 
 
 Venus, to thee, great Queen ! " 
 
 Her white robe far behind her swept. 
 As from the turret's edge she leapt 
 Down, down into the wave ; 
 
 F 
 
82 Schiller. 
 
 Her hallowed corpse the god receives, 
 Where slow his watery kingdom heaves, 
 
 And is himself her grave. 
 Well pleased he eyes his prey, then turns 
 
 To bear it to his realm below ; 
 And pours from his exhaustless urns 
 
 The streams that ever flow. 
 
83 
 
 THE CRANES OF IBYCUS. 
 
 /^N to the strife of Car and Song 
 
 On Corinth's isthmus, whither throng 
 The sons of Greece, all mirth, did wend 
 Young Ibycus, of gods the friend. 
 The gift of song was his, the gay 
 
 Sweet notes, that from Apollo come ; 
 So, light of foot, he makes his way. 
 
 Full of the god, from Rhegium. 
 
 Now on its mountain-ridges high 
 Fair Corinth meets the wanderer's eye ; 
 And now Poseidon's piny wood 
 He enters, awed to pious mood. 
 Nought stirs around, save that a swarm 
 
 Of Cranes keeps wheeling o'er his head. 
 As on to southern regions warm 
 
 In weird and mystic wise they sped. 
 
84 Schiller. 
 
 " Hail, friendly birds ! that on the sea 
 Companions constant were to me ; 
 Of good I take you for a sign, — 
 Even as your lot is so is mine ! 
 From far we both have come, and here 
 
 For genial shelter ask ; and may 
 We find kind hearts to help and cheer, 
 
 And keep all harm from us away ! " 
 
 Then, quickening his pace, he made 
 His way into the forest shade. 
 When, where the thicket closest grew, 
 Two ruffians barred his passage through. 
 He closed with them, the strife was dire, 
 
 But soon his hand exhausted hung ; 
 It tuned the soft strings of the lyre. 
 
 But ne'er the sturdy bow had strung. 
 
 He calls on gods and men, but all 
 His cries for help unheeded fall ; 
 There was no living creature near 
 His shouts, howe'er they rang, to hear. 
 " And must I here forsaken, then. 
 Unwept in a strange country die, 
 
The Cranes of Ibycus. 85 
 
 Done to foul death by wicked men, 
 And no one to avenge me nigh ? " 
 
 And as he sinks, lo, in the air 
 A rush of wings ! The Cranes are there ! 
 He hears them — see he can no more — 
 Croak dirge-like, as they hover o'er. 
 "Ye Cranes, if other tongues shall fail 
 
 The story of my death to tell, 
 Do you my murderous end bewail ! " 
 
 He said, and back death-stricken fell. 
 
 They found the body stripped, and though 
 'Twas scarred and bruised by gash and blow, 
 Soon did his host in Corinth trace 
 The lines of that belovfed face. 
 " Woe, woe ! and is it thus I find 
 
 My poet — I, who on his head 
 The pine-woven wreath had hoped to bind, 
 
 A brighter lustre there to shed ? " 
 
 Grief fell on all were gathered there 
 Poseidon's festival to share ; 
 
86 Schiller. 
 
 All Hellas bitterly made moan, 
 And each heart felt the loss its own. 
 On to the Prytaneum throng 
 
 The people shouting, wild with rage, 
 " Avenge his Manes ! Right their wrong, 
 
 And with the murderer's blood assuage ! " 
 
 But where might any trace be sought 
 Of who the caitiff deed had wrought 
 In that vast throng, lured thither by 
 The Games in story famed so high ? 
 "Was it by robbers' hands he fell. 
 
 Or struck by envious secret foe ? 
 This Helios alone may tell, 
 
 Whose light illumines all below. 
 
 " Perchance he walks, with shameless brow, 
 Where Greeks meet thickest even now, 
 Of his foul crime enjoys the fruit. 
 And mocks revenge's vain pursuit. 
 Perchance within their very fane 
 
 He braves the gods without a blush. 
 Or thrusts, the theatre to gain, 
 
 The crowd aside that thither rush." 
 
The Cranes of Ibycus. 87 
 
 There, bench on bench, close wedged they sit. 
 So close, the beams wellnigh are split, 
 For Greece had sent from far and near 
 The crowd that waited there, all ear. 
 Hoarse murmuring, like the sea-waves' roar 
 
 The human pile still grew and grew 
 Up, tier on tier, still more and more. 
 
 Even to the sky's o'erarching blue. 
 
 Who's he shall number, who shall name 
 The guests who to that muster came ? 
 From Theseus' city, Aulis' strand, 
 From Phocis, from the Spartan's land, 
 From Asia's far-off coasts they throng. 
 
 From isles on seas Egean throned, 
 And list the wild and wondrous song. 
 
 The chorus from the stage intoned : 
 
 Who, grave and stern, with measured, slow 
 And solemn stride, that boded woe. 
 From the far scene advancing, wound 
 The theatre's wide circuit round. 
 So never this earth's women strode, 
 No mortal home such beings bred ; 
 
88 Schiller. 
 
 Their limbs in bulk gigantic showed 
 High over every human head. 
 
 A black robe round their loins was flung ; 
 Aloft in fleshless hands they swung 
 Torches that flashed with lurid glare ; 
 Their cheeks, no blood was circling there ; 
 And where round mortal temples curl 
 
 The locks that wind with winning charm, 
 There snakes are seen to writhe and twirl. 
 
 And adders, pufied with venom, swarm. 
 
 And now in circles wheeling, they 
 Begin the awful Hymnal lay, 
 That racks the guilty heart with pain, 
 And binds it hard as with a chain. 
 Bewildering brain, and madding heart, 
 
 The Furies' song rings out ; it shook 
 The hearers, till aghast they start, 
 
 Nor will it the lyre's descant brook. 
 
 " Oh, well for him, who keeps his soul 
 As childhood's pure from sin's control ! 
 
The Cranes of Ihycus. 89 
 
 Not him need we with vengeance goad ; 
 He travels free along life's road. 
 But woe to him whose hand is red 
 
 With murder, wrought by secret sleight ! 
 We dog his steps, we haunt his bed, 
 
 We, the dread progeny of Night. 
 
 "And, if he thinks our clutch to fly, 
 On swooping wings we still are nigh, 
 To cast our clinging meshes round 
 His feet, and bear him to the ground. 
 And so we hunt him, resting ne'er, — 
 
 Remorse, repentance, what care we ? — 
 On, on to Hades' self, nor there 
 
 Shall from our presence set him free ! " 
 
 So singing, they their measures tread, 
 And a great hush, as of the dead. 
 On all there like a weight did lie. 
 As though some deity were nigh. 
 With solemn air, in circuit wide. 
 
 Pacing the theatre, they wind, 
 And then with slow and measured stride 
 
 They vanish in the space behind. 
 
90 Schiller. 
 
 'Twixt fear and fancy tossed, each breast 
 With awe is shaken and unrest, 
 And bows to the dread Power serene. 
 That marks and judges all, unseen ; 
 The Inscrutable, Unknown, that deals 
 
 The lots by fate in darkness spun. 
 That to deep souls itself reveals. 
 
 Yet doth the open daylight shun. 
 
 Then all at once rings loud and clear 
 A voice upon the topmost tier — 
 " Look, look ! Look there, Timotheus ! 
 The Cranes, the Cranes of Ibycus ! " 
 And suddenly dark grew the sky. 
 
 And o'er the theatre a deep 
 Black cloud of beating wings goes by, 
 
 The Cranes, as onward south they sweep. 
 
 " Of Ibycus ! " At that dear name 
 To every breast fresh anguish came ; 
 And, as wave chases wave, so ran 
 The cry as swift from man to man. 
 " Of Ibycus ! Whom we lament, 
 That was by vile assassin slain. 
 
The Cranes of Ibycus. 91 
 
 Who's he that called ? What was't he meant ? 
 The Cranes, too, what portends their train?" 
 
 And louder still the questions grew, 
 And then surmise, like lightning, through 
 All hearts went flashing : " Yes, 'tis clear ! 
 The Eumenides, their hand is here ! 
 Our bard's avenged ! Praise we the birds ! 
 
 The assassin yonder stands confessed ! 
 Seize him, the man that spoke the words. 
 
 And him to whom they were addressed ! " 
 
 Scarce had the words been spoken, when 
 He wished them in his breast again. 
 In vain ! The lips, with terror pale. 
 Of conscious guilt reveal the tale. 
 They drag him to the judge ; and now 
 
 The scene turns to the judgment-hall ; 
 The felons there their crime avow, 
 
 So did the god their hearts appal ! 
 
92 
 
 THE RING OF POLYCRATES. 
 
 T TPON his palace roof he stood, 
 
 And gazed in glad complacent mood, 
 
 Where round lay Samos isle, the fair. 
 " All this is subject to my throne,'' 
 He said to Egypt's monarch. " Own, 
 
 That I am blest beyond compare ! " 
 
 " The gods on thee have favours showered. 
 Thy equals once now bend o'erpowered 
 
 Beneath thy sceptre's conquering force ; 
 But still revenge inspires one breast. 
 Nor may my lips pronounce thee blest, 
 
 While that foe's vengeance dogs thy course." 
 
 And ere he well the words had said, 
 An envoy, from Miletus sped, 
 
 Rushed in before the Tyrant there. 
 
The Ring of Polycrates. 93 
 
 " Let sacrificial odours steam, 
 And vivid wreaths of laurel gleam, 
 My lord, in triumph on thy hair ! 
 
 " Pierced by the spear, thy foeman fell, 
 And I the glad news come to tell 
 
 From thy leal captain Polydore.'' 
 And from a huge black bowl he took — 
 Both shrink in horror as they look — 
 
 A well-known head, still dripping gore. 
 
 Back drew the monarch, all a-dread : 
 
 " Be warned ! " with shaken voice he said ; 
 
 " Your fortune, trust it not ! Reflect, 
 On faithless seas your fleet is tossed ; 
 If by some sudden tempest crossed. 
 
 How easily may it be wrecked ! " 
 
 And even before the words were out. 
 Broke on the ear a joyous shout. 
 
 That swelled to a triumphant roar. 
 Ships laden deep with spoils from far — 
 Their masts a very forest are — 
 
 Have reached again their native shore. 
 
94 Schiller. 
 
 Astounded was the royal guest ; 
 " To-day thou art by fortune blest, 
 
 But hold her fickle mood in fear ! 
 The Cretan hosts are up in arms, 
 To crush thee with their whelming swarms. 
 
 And even now thy coasts they near ! " 
 
 And ere the words have left his lips, 
 A crowd streams upward from the ships, 
 
 A thousand tongues shout "Victory ! " 
 " The war, the war is overpast. 
 The Cretans scattered by the blast. 
 
 And from the invader we are free ! " 
 
 The sounds the guest with terror struck. 
 " Wondrous, in sooth, I own thy luck. 
 
 Yet for thy safety, friend, I quake. 
 I dread the. envious gods' despite; 
 A life of all unmixed delight 
 
 Is not for mortals to partake. 
 
 " I, too, with wary steps have walked, 
 Nor ever have my plans been balked. 
 Heaven's grace has so my path beset. 
 
The Ring of Polycrates. 95 
 
 But one beloved son had I : 
 God took him. Woe ! I saw him die ; 
 So unto fortune paid my debt. 
 
 " Then wouldst thou shield thyself from ill, 
 Pray of the Great Unseen, they will 
 
 Temper the bliss they send with bane. 
 Ne'er have I known his ending glad. 
 On whom the gods their bounties had 
 
 With teeming hands been wont to rain. 
 
 "And if this boon they will not send, 
 Take home the counsel of a friend. 
 
 Thyself thine own harm-bringer be ! 
 Of all thy treasures choose what might 
 Give to thy heart the most delight, 
 
 And cast it into yonder sea ! " 
 
 Then spoke the king, and thrilled with fear, — 
 " Of all within my island here 
 
 This ring by me is prized the most. 
 I to the Furies it consign. 
 So may I win their grace benign ! " 
 
 And in the sea the jewel tossed. 
 
96 Schiller. 
 
 Next morning, by the break of day, 
 A fisherman, with aspect gay, 
 
 Into the royal presence stept : 
 " This fish I caught ; sure, never yet 
 Came such a fine one to my net ; 
 
 This gift, my lord, I pray, accept ! " 
 
 To dress it when the cook began. 
 Off to the king in haste he ran, 
 
 With eyes that stared all wonder-struck. 
 " Look, look, the ring you wore ? Inside 
 The fish I found it, sire ! " he cried : 
 
 " Oh, measureless is thy good luck ! " 
 
 The guest in horror turns away : 
 " No ! I can here no longer stay, 
 
 And thou my friend no more must be ! 
 The gods for doom have marked thee \ I 
 Will not remain, with thee to die ! " 
 
 He said, and straight put off to sea. 
 
 [Among that remarkable class of men, the Greek Tyrants, 
 Polycrates was distinguished. But able and fortunate as he 
 was, he illustrated in his person the force of the old saw, " Call 
 no man happy till his death ! " He was decoyed into the 
 power of Oroetes, Governor of Sardis, and was put to an igno- 
 minious death upon the cross.] 
 
97 
 
 THE GLOVE. 
 
 TNTENT on bloody sport, 
 
 King Francis sat before his lion court ; 
 
 His grandees near were set, 
 And, ranged around them, ladies fair 
 On a high balcony were there, 
 
 A lovely carcanet. 
 
 He waves his hand, and straight 
 
 Wide open flies a gate : 
 
 With pace deliberate 
 
 Forth stalks a lion, looks all round. 
 
 Uttering no sound, 
 
 And yawning wide, as he to sleep were fain. 
 
 He shakes his mane, 
 
 Stretches his limbs, and then 
 
 Lies down again. 
 
 G 
 
98 Schiller. 
 
 The king, he waves his hand once more ; 
 
 Back flies a second door ! 
 
 With furious bound a tiger dashes 
 
 Forth from his lair. 
 
 Seeing the lion couching there, 
 
 He rends the air 
 
 With t-oarings deep. 
 
 And lashes 
 
 His tail around with frantic sweep, 
 
 Out his red tongue he flashes. 
 
 Snarling, in wary prowl 
 
 Doth round and round the lion stride. 
 
 Then with a muttered growl 
 
 Lays him along by his side. 
 
 The king he waves his hand again. 
 Two other doors fly open wide, 
 And straightway from the den 
 Two leopards leap, and, all 
 Aflame for fight, upon the tiger fall. 
 Clutched in his terrible claws, at last 
 He pins them fast ; 
 Whereon the lion, with a roar, 
 
The Glove. 99 
 
 Gets up, and all is hushed : 
 And the wild cats, crushed, 
 But mad athirst for gore. 
 Draw off, and settle round 
 Upon the ground. 
 Then from the balcony above 
 A dainty hand lets fall a glove, 
 Which, as it fell, midway 
 Between the lion and the tiger lay. 
 
 To the knight Delorge turned the fair Cunegonde, 
 
 And bespoke him thus in a mocking way : 
 "If your love be as deep, and as ardent, and fond, 
 
 As you tell me it is, every hour of the day, 
 Belike you will bring me back my glove ! " 
 And the knight, at the word of his lady-love, 
 Uprose, and, fast as a man might go, 
 Made his way to the dread arena below, 
 And picked, where 'twixt tiger and lion it lay, 
 The glove calmly up, and bore it away. 
 
 The knights and the noble ladies fair 
 Look on, with wonder and fear aghast ; 
 
lOO Schiller. 
 
 He brings back the glove with a careless air, 
 And his praises from lip to lip are passed. 
 Her face aglow with love's tender light, — 
 Sure promise this of her crowning grace, — 
 The fair Cunegonde receives her knight. 
 He flings the glove in the lady's face ; 
 " Madam, no thanks ! I desire them not ! " 
 And he left her there, from that hour unsought. 
 
 [The story of this ballad has been treated by many 
 romancers and poets ; among the latter, by Leigh Hunt 
 in " The Glove and the Lions,'' and by Browning in 
 " The Glove." It is pointed out by Mr Ormsby in his 
 translation of ' Don Quixote' (vol. iii. p. i88), that, while 
 the hero's name in these poems, as it is in Schiller's, is 
 De Lorge, the story is originally of Spanish origin, and 
 is first heard of in the sixteenth century. Bandello 
 gives a version of the story in the 24th novel of Part 
 III. of his ' Novelle.' He calls the hero Giovanni 
 Emanuel, apparently, says Mr Ormsby in a letter to 
 myself confounding him with Don Juan Manuel of the 
 preceding century, but agreeing with the Spanish 
 account in making him one of the knights of Fer- 
 dinand and Isabella, who distinguished himself at the 
 siege of Grenada. The Glove affair, however, Bandello 
 says, occurred at Seville, when the Court was there. He 
 gives the lady's name as Leonora. According to the 
 Spanish version, she was Dona Ana de Mendoza. He 
 
The Glove. loi 
 
 says, too, that she made a previous trial of the knight 
 by sending him out to attack seven Moors, which 
 he did, bringing back their heads ; whereat Queen 
 Isabella was angry with both of them, — with her for 
 risking the life of a good knight wantonly, with him 
 for being such a fool. The ballad, Mr Ormsby adds, 
 is delightfully Spanish. According to it there was no 
 love attraction at all between the pair. The glove was 
 dropped simply as a test of the knighthood then and 
 there present; and as Don Manuel was famous for 
 deeds of derring-do, he considered that it was for him 
 specially to accept it. The deliberation with which he 
 goes about the trial is deliciously Spanish. There is 
 nothing sudden or undignified about his action — no 
 leaping or jumping, or anything of that sort. Like a 
 grave, stately Spaniard, he draws his sword from his 
 belt, wraps his mantle round his left arm, and enters 
 the den as if he were walking a minuet. His speech to 
 the lady is equally characteristic of Spain. "Take it," 
 he says, " and another time, for the sake of a wretched 
 glove, do not put so many good gentlemen in risk of 
 honour; and if any one thinks I have not done well, 
 let him step out upon the sward, and try the question 
 like a good knight." To this Doiia Ana says she does 
 not wish any one to stir ; suffice it, that she has proved 
 Don Manuel's superiority ; adding in pretty clear 
 language, that he may have her for the asking, as the 
 sort of husband she wants is one who is valiant, and 
 dares to punish evil. This Don Manuel thinks is not 
 a bad way of putting the point, and the upshot is, that 
 
102 Schiller. 
 
 their hands are joined then and there. Mr Ormsby 
 believes the story to be a pure fiction, for which the 
 " de Leon " in the name of Don Manuel Ponce de Leon 
 is responsible, " None of the old chroniclers who love 
 such stories tell it," he says ; but it was just such an 
 incident as was likely to find its way into romance 
 " at the tail of the middle ages and the death of 
 chivalry."] 
 
103 
 
 THE HOSTAGE. 
 
 /^"'LOSE up to the tyrant Damon went, 
 
 His hand on the dagger was hid in his vest : 
 He was seized by the guards that around him 
 pressed, 
 " Speak, slave ! For what was the dagger meant ? " 
 Dionysius cried, and with wrath was rent. 
 
 " From the tyrant we loathe to free the state ! " 
 " Ha ! this on the cross thou shalt expiate ! " 
 
 " To die I am ready ! " Damon said. 
 
 " I ask not for life ; but one boon there is 
 
 Of your grace I crave, and that boon is this, 
 My freedom until three days are sped. 
 That my sister I may to her lover wed. 
 
 My friend will here as my hostage stay ; 
 
 Him, if I fail, you are free to slay ! " 
 
I04 Schiller. 
 
 The king mused awhile, and then, as o'er 
 His face played a crafty smile, he spake : 
 " Three days, just three, I will let you take. 
 But know, if this respite run out, before 
 You give yourself up to my guards once more, 
 Your friend full surely your doom must dree, 
 But you shall go from my vengeance free." 
 
 Damon comes to his friend — "The king," he said, 
 " For the deed that I purposed decrees that I 
 A felon's death on the cross shall die ; 
 But he sets me free till three days are sped. 
 That my sister I may to her lover wed : 
 
 Will you stay, then, as hostage for me to the king, 
 Till I come, and release from his dungeons 
 bring?" 
 
 His true friend embraced him ; no word he said ; 
 
 And so from the tyrant is Damon freed. 
 
 Away then he hastens with breathless speed, 
 And, ere the third morning broke rosy-red. 
 His sister he sees to her lover wed, 
 
 And home he hurries, in soul afraid, 
 
 Lest he fail in the pledge to his friend was made. 
 
The Hostage. 105 
 
 Torrents of rain from the welkin pour, 
 Rivulets rise, and rush from the hills. 
 Swell into rivers the brooks and rills. 
 As, stepping out stoutly, he came to the shore, 
 Down on the bridge the fierce torrent bore. 
 The arches give way with a thunderous crash, 
 And over the ruins the waters plash. 
 
 He paces the bank in wild despair, 
 
 Far every way his eye he casts. 
 
 And his shouts ring loud on the driving blasts. 
 But no boat puts out from the strand to bear 
 Him across to the wished-for shore, and there 
 
 Is ferryman none to be bribed by fee. 
 
 And the river expands to a raging sea. 
 
 He sinks on the ground, with sore grief foredone, 
 And, uplifting his hands to Zeus, he cries — 
 " Oh stem the waters that madly rise ! 
 The hours fly fast, at noon the siin 
 Is standing, and should its day's course be run. 
 Or ever I reach the city, my friend 
 Must come for me to a woful end ! " 
 
io6 Schiller. 
 
 But higher and fiercer the torrent grows, 
 The wild waves on, ever onwards, sweep. 
 On, ever onwards, the lost hours creep ; 
 
 Then, mad with the terrors that round him close. 
 
 Into the torrent himself he throws, — 
 He cleaves the waters with lusty arm, 
 And a god had pity and saved him from harm. 
 
 He reaches the bank, he speeds on his way. 
 
 And he thanks the god that has saved him so. 
 
 He is threading the gloom of a forest, when, lo ! 
 Out rush from the thicket, where close they lay, 
 Some robber knaves, and his passage stay, 
 
 And they brandish their bludgeons, as if they 
 meant 
 
 To kill him, if onward his steps he bent. 
 
 " What would ye ? " he cried, all pale with fear. 
 " Nothing have I but the life I live. 
 And that I perforce to the king must give ! " 
 He snatches a bludgeon from one stood near, — 
 " For my friend's sake have mercy ! " They will 
 not hear ; 
 
The Hostage. 107 
 
 Then, laying around him fiercely, half dead 
 Fell three of the robbers, — the others fled. 
 
 The sun flamed in the sky like a scorching brand. 
 And wearied and spent with alarm, and all 
 The toils he had braved, he was like to fall. 
 " Hast thou rescued me from yon robber band. 
 Hast thou borne me safe through the waves to land, 
 And now must I perish for thirst, and he, 
 The friend, who so loved me, be slain for me ? " 
 
 Hark ! What tinkles there with a silvery sound. 
 
 What is this that goes gurgling by ? 
 
 He stops, and he listens : 'tis nigh ! 'tis nigh ! 
 And lo ! a spring that with sudden bound 
 Shoots from the rock, and goes prattling round ! 
 
 He stoops and drinks with delight from the pool. 
 
 And the fever that raged in his blood grows cool. 
 
 The sun through the green of the branches peers. 
 And paints the trees' giant shadows deep 
 On the meadows that there in their beauty sleep ; 
 And two wayfarers anon he nears, 
 And, as he goes hurrying past them, hears 
 
io8 Schiller. 
 
 These words by one to the other spoken, 
 
 " Even now will the man on the cross be broken." 
 
 Anguish lends wings to his feet — affright 
 
 Spurs him still swiftlier on, and lo ! 
 
 Where, tipped with the sunset's ruddy glow, 
 The Syracuse roofs are shimmering bright ! 
 Now his steward Philostratus meets his sight. 
 
 Come forth to meet him along the way. 
 
 And he sees his master with wild dismay. 
 
 " Back, back ! and save your own life ! Too late. 
 To save the life of your friend, for he 
 Even now is stretched on the fatal tree ! 
 Hourly did he your return await. 
 And nought or in heart or in hope did bate ; 
 He recked not the tyrant's scoffs, but clung 
 To his faith in your word with a heart un wrung." 
 
 " If it be too late, — if I may not delight 
 His eyes, coming back to his rescue there, 
 Then death shall unite me to him, for ne'er 
 Shall the tyrant boast in his savage spite, 
 Friend kept not to friend what his word did plight ; 
 
The Hostage. 109 
 
 To slake his wrath, let him slay us both, 
 Then believe in love and in loyal troth ! " 
 
 Now sinks the sun. From the gate he spied 
 
 The cross already uplifted high. 
 
 And a mighty throng that stood gaping by. 
 They hoist up his friend with cordage tied ; 
 He dashes the close-packed crowd aside : 
 
 " 'Tis for me ! " he shouted, " for me to die ! 
 
 It is I, for whom he was hostage, I !" 
 
 Amazement fell on the crowd. They cling. 
 Locked in each other's arms, these twain, 
 Weeping for mingled delight and pain ; 
 Not an eye but is filled with tears. They bring 
 The marvellous tale to the moody king, 
 And so on his feeling the story wrought. 
 He has them straight to his presence brought. 
 
 He looks at them long in mute amaze. 
 Then says, " The victory rests with you. 
 My heart you have mastered. I see, that true 
 
no Schiller. 
 
 Devotion is not a mere empty phrase. 
 
 Fain would I share in your thoughts and ways ; 
 Then let me, for deeply my soul is stirred, 
 Be in this league of yours the Third ! " 
 
Ill 
 
 RUDOLPH OF HAPSBURG. 
 
 A T Aachen, throned in imperial state, 
 
 On the day that had seen him crowned, 
 Holding high festal King Rudolph sate, 
 
 In the hall from old times renowned. 
 Rhine's Palgrave with viands crowned the board, 
 The wine by Bohemia's king was poured, 
 
 And, like stars around the Sun, 
 Stood the seven Electors intent to share 
 In paying devoir to the monarch there, 
 
 Who the world for his fief had won. 
 
 The high-piled galleries round were filled 
 
 With the people, a joyous crowd, 
 And through their cheers and their shoutings shrilled 
 
 The trumpets clear and loud ; 
 For the time, it was over, the woful time 
 Of war and disaster and havoc and crime, 
 
112 Schiller. 
 
 And law ruled again in the land : 
 No longer the spear lords it blindly, no more 
 Crouch the feeble and peacefully minded before 
 
 Brute force and its ruthless hand. 
 
 The Kaiser takes hold of the goblet of gold, 
 
 And thus, well content, spoke he : 
 " The feast is bright, and my heart is light. 
 
 This noble banquet to see ; 
 But I miss the bard, who brings joys the best. 
 Who with song and sweet melody thrills my breast. 
 
 And with thoughts that are all divine : 
 From my youth I have loved his art, and here 
 What I evermore held, when a knight, most dear. 
 
 Shall it not, when I'm Kaiser, be mine ? " 
 
 Then lo ! forth steps with a lordly mien 
 
 The bard from these princely peers, 
 His locks were white, of a silver sheen, 
 
 Bleached so by the teeming years. 
 " Sweet music sleeps in the golden strings. 
 Of love's dear guerdon the minstrel sings, 
 
 Lauds the highest, the best, the most sweet. 
 Of all the heart yearns for, the sense desires ; 
 
Rudolph of Hapsburg. 1 1 3 
 
 But say, what my liege of the bard requires, 
 As for his great festival meet ? " 
 
 " I will lay no command on a minstrel true," 
 
 Said the king with a smile. " To a power 
 Far higher is his allegiance due. 
 
 He obeys the behest of the hour ; 
 As the roar of the blast when the wild winds blow, — 
 Whence it cometh and how may no mortal know, — 
 
 As the spring from some far-hidden deep, 
 So the bard's song wells from his inmost soul. 
 And feelings awake 'neath its mystic control, 
 
 In our hearts that so strangely sleep ! " 
 
 The minstrel caught up his harp straightway. 
 
 And with power its chords he smote : 
 " A high-born hero rode forth one day 
 
 To hunt the swift mountain goat. 
 His squire, with the weapons to serve his need. 
 Rode after, and when on his stately steed 
 
 He was pricking the meadows o'er, 
 Far off he hears a bell tinkling low, 
 'Twas a priest, that with the Lord's Body did go. 
 
 His sacristan striding before. 
 
114 Schiller. 
 
 "And the Count leapt down, and he bared his head, 
 
 And bowed with a Christian mind 
 In reverence lowly to what had bred 
 
 Salvation for all mankind. 
 But a brook that brawled through the meadow, by 
 The mountain torrents swollen wild and high. 
 
 The priest's going on delayed ; 
 So he lays the Host near him upon the ground, 
 And the sandals straight from his feet unwound. 
 
 In purpose across to wade. 
 
 " ' What wouldest thou ? ' marvelling much to scan 
 
 His doings, the good Count said. 
 ' On my way, sir, am I to a dying man. 
 
 Who pines for the heavenly bread. 
 I had come to the bridge that spans the brook. 
 When the torrent came eddying down, — it shook, 
 
 Then was whirled away ; and so, 
 To bring that poor soul its heavenly cheer, 
 As fast as I may through the water here 
 
 Barefooted I mean to go.' 
 
 " The Count sets the priest on his knightly steed. 
 And hands him the glittering reins. 
 
Rudolph of Hapsburg. 115 
 
 So speeds him to solace the sick man's need 
 
 With the balm of his heavenly pains ; 
 Himself strode the beast that had borne his squire, 
 And hunted that day to his heart's desire : 
 
 The priest to the sick man sped, 
 And by the next morning's dawning light 
 He brought the brave barb back to the knight. 
 By the bridle modestly led. 
 
 " ' Nay, Heaven forfend ! ' then devoutly cried 
 
 The Count, ' that in chase or strife 
 I should ever again the steed bestride. 
 
 That has borne the Lord of Life ! 
 If it may not be for thine own allowed, 
 To the service of God let it still be vowed ! 
 
 'Tis a tribute to Him I'd give, 
 Of whom I take as in trust my whole 
 World's wealth, my honour, my body, my soul, 
 
 And the breath whereby I live ! ' 
 
 " ' So may God, who from heaven to the plaint and 
 prayer 
 Of the helpless his ear doth bow. 
 
1 16 Schiller. 
 
 To honour bring you here — ay, and there — 
 
 As Him you are honouring now ! 
 Your name and fame men's praise command 
 For prowess done in the Switzers' land : 
 
 Six daughters fair have you ; 
 May each of them bring to your House a crown, 
 And hand to the latest ages down 
 
 Its glories ever new ! ' " 
 
 There sat the Kaiser, with head down bent. 
 
 As he thought of the days gone by ; 
 But now he divines what the minstrel meant. 
 
 As he looks at his flashing eye. 
 In him the priest he again beholds, 
 And he hides in his mantle's purple folds 
 
 The rush of the tell-tale tears. 
 All looked at the Kaiser, and every one 
 Knew he was the Count, who that deed had done. 
 
 And it hallowed his name for years. 
 
117 
 
 CASSANDRA. 
 
 T OY through Ilion's halls was ringing, 
 
 Ere they sank in ruin's fires ; 
 There are youths and maidens singing 
 
 To the touch of golden wires. 
 Hushed the din of strife and slaughter, 
 
 Tears on every cheek are dried, 
 For old Priam's lovely daughter 
 Shall be great Pelides' bride. 
 
 And with garlands and with dances. 
 
 Troop on troop, a festive throng. 
 To the holy fanes advances, 
 
 To the Thymbrian's shrine, with song. 
 Through the streets, in murmurs sweeping, 
 
 Revel's echoing tide is borne ; 
 One sad heart alone is weeping, 
 
 In its agony forlorn. 
 
Ii8 Schiller. 
 
 'Mong the joyful joyless only 
 
 Did the pale Cassandra rove, 
 Sad, companionless, and lonely, 
 
 In Apollo's laurel grove, 
 Deep amid the wood's recesses, 
 
 She, where shades fell darkly round, 
 Tore the fillets from her tresses. 
 
 Tore, and dashed them to the ground. 
 
 "All around of joy is telling, 
 
 Every heart leaps with delight, 
 Hope my parents' breasts is swelling. 
 
 And my sister's robes are bright. 
 I alone must weep. Deluding 
 
 Bliss hath fled from me, and flies. 
 For I see winged ruin brooding 
 
 O'er our walls with baleful eyes. 
 
 " See ! a torch ! I see it gleaming ! 
 
 Ah, but not in Hymen's hand ; 
 Heavenward high its light is streaming, 
 
 Like no sacrificial brand ! 
 Feasts I see in mirth providing. 
 
 But on my prophetic ear 
 
Cassandra. 119 
 
 Comes the rush of footsteps striding 
 On to crush the festal cheer. 
 
 " And they chide my lamentation, 
 
 Scorn my anguish. Far apart 
 Must I bear the desolation 
 
 Of a lone and wildered heart. 
 Happy faces turn and jfly me, 
 
 Scoffed and spurned, I move abroad ; 
 Heavily hast thou dealt by me, 
 
 Pythian, thou cruel god ! 
 
 " Why with sense prophetic blast me ? 
 
 'Mid a bhnd, unthinking race, 
 Wherefore, wherefore didst thou cast me, 
 
 To reveal thy darkened face ? 
 Oh, to see, yet feel we may not 
 
 The impending stroke recall ! 
 What is fated will delay not, 
 
 What is dreaded must befall. 
 
 " Wherefore from a coming terror 
 Should we seek the veil to lift ? 
 
I20 Schiller. 
 
 Human life is nought but error, 
 
 Knowledge is a fatal gift. 
 Take, oh, take the vision gory 
 
 From my purgfed eyes ! To be 
 The mortal vessel of thy glory 
 
 Is a dreadful agony. 
 
 " Let my sense be darkened ever, 
 
 Make, oh, make me blind again ! 
 Since thy voice inspired me, never 
 
 Have I sung a joyful strain. 
 Thou hast given the future to me, 
 
 But the present thou hast ta'en, 
 Ta'en the hours thrilled rapture through me;- 
 
 Take thy treacherous gift again ! 
 
 " Wreaths and bridal flowerets on my 
 
 Fragrant hair might never shine, 
 Since I took thy vows upon me 
 
 At thy melancholy shrine : 
 Youth was one long sigh of anguish ; 
 
 I have never known but woe ; 
 Did a heart I loved but languish, 
 
 My heart quivered to the blow. 
 
Cassandra. 1 2 1 
 
 " My companions all — they grieve not, 
 
 Youth and love have made them glad, 
 Fired with hopes, they dream, deceive not — 
 
 One heart, mine ! alone is sad. 
 Not for me Spring spreads her treasure. 
 
 Robes the smiling earth with flowers ; 
 Never soul in life had pleasure, 
 
 That could scan its deeper powers. 
 
 " Ah ! Polixena is so blest, 
 
 Heedless she whate'er betide, 
 For she hopes, of Greeks the noblest 
 
 Home will bear her as his bride. 
 Proud her heart swells to the vision. 
 
 All the world but him forgot ; 
 You, ye gods, your joys Elysian 
 
 In her trance she envies not ! 
 
 " And I, too, have viewed adoring. 
 Him my heart had made its choice. 
 
 Seen his bright eyes' rapt imploring. 
 Heard his love-inspiring voice. 
 
 Oh, with him I'd go, how lightly ! 
 In his home a wife to be ! 
 
122 Schiller. 
 
 But a Stygian shadow nightly 
 Steps betwixt my love and me. 
 
 " Proserpine, to mock and spurn me, 
 
 Sends her phantoms of affright, 
 AVheresoe'er I go or turn me. 
 
 Shadows, shadows throng my sight ; 
 Where the young in measures sprightly 
 
 Sport the sunny hours away. 
 There they be — a crew unsightly — 
 
 Oh, I never can be gay ! 
 
 " And I see the red knife streaming. 
 
 And the assassin's fiery eye ; 
 Right and left I see it gleaming ; 
 
 I can not the horror fly ! 
 No ! I dare not blench. Unbending 
 
 I must look it in the face. 
 Meet the fate I see descending, 
 
 Perish 'mong a stranger race." 
 
 Pouring thus her griefs unfaiUng, 
 Hark ! a cry from yonder fane 
 
Cassandra. 123 
 
 Fills the air — a cry of wailing — 
 
 Thetis' mighty son is slain. 
 Eris shakes her snaky tresses, 
 
 Shrieking forth the gods are gone, 
 And the louring thunder presses 
 
 Darkly over Ilion. 
 
124 
 
 THE VEILED STATUE AT SAIS. 
 
 A YOUTH, who had to Sais in the land 
 
 Of Egypt come, by thirst of knowledge driven. 
 To learn the secret wisdom of the priests, 
 Had quickly passed through many a stage of lore. 
 But still his curious spirit urged him on 
 To fresh inquiry, not to be appeased 
 By all the sage hierophant might urge. 
 " What have I, if I have not all ? " he'd say ; 
 " Is it a question here of Less or More ? 
 This truth of yours, is it, like sensuous joys, 
 Only a sum of items, one may hold," 
 This man of greater, that of less amount, 
 And keep, curtail, or add to, till he dies? 
 Is truth not one and indivisible ? 
 Take from some harmony a single tone. 
 Take from the rainbow one of all its tints. 
 And all that's left of the fair whole is nought. 
 
The Veiled Statue at Sais. 125 
 
 If lacks its perfect tale of tints and tones ! " 
 
 Whilst thus conversing, 'neath a dome they stood, 
 That o'er the Temple's hushed recesses rose ; 
 Where, as he looked around, the young man's eyes 
 On a veiled Statue rested, giant-high. 
 Turning in wonder to his guide, he said, 
 "What is it, that behind yon veil is hid?" 
 " Truth," came the answer. " How ! " exclaims the 
 
 youth ; 
 " Truth, only Truth, is all for which I strive. 
 And is it this, you shroud up from my ken ? " 
 " That you must settle with the Power Divine ! " 
 The hierophant replied : "No mortal hand, 
 She hath declared, shall draw my veil aside, 
 Till I myself shall lift it up, and he. 
 Who with unhallowed fingers ere that time 
 Shall raise this holy interdicted veil, 
 He, says the voice divine"— "Well ! What?"— 
 
 "Shall see 
 The Truth." "A strange oracular saw! And 
 
 thou, 
 Hast thou, then, never lifted it thyself ? " 
 " No, of a truth, nor ever felt the wish." 
 " How ! Never felt the wish ? If this thin veil 
 
126 Schiller. 
 
 The only barrier be 'twixt me and Truth " — 
 " This, and a law ! " — the holy man strikes in. 
 " Of mightier force, my son, than thou surmisest. 
 Is this slight web, — light to thy hand, 'tis true, 
 But to thy conscience weighted as with lead." 
 
 Home went the young man brooding, deep in 
 thought, 
 No sleep for him, so burns he with desire 
 To know, but tosses on his bed, with brain 
 On fire ; then about midnight up he springs. 
 Borne on by steps he can no more control. 
 He gains the Temple, scales the boundary wall. 
 One venturous leap — how easy seemed it now ! — 
 And he is in the inmost holiest shrine. 
 
 Here now he halts, and, standing there alone. 
 The lifeless hush clings round him like a pall, 
 A hush unbroke, save that his tread awakes 
 A hollow echo in the mystic vaults. 
 Down through an opening in the arching dome 
 The moonlight streams, a pale and silvery blue. 
 And, awe-inspiring, like some present God, 
 Through the dark shadows of the vaulted shrine 
 In its long drooping veil the Statue gleams. 
 
 With tottering steps he makes his way to it ; 
 
The Veiled Statue at Sais. 127 
 
 Now is his impious hand about to touch 
 The Holy Thing, when, hot and cold by turns. 
 Through all his limbs a something runs, that seems 
 As with invisible arms to thrust him back. 
 
 " Unhappy man ! What wouldst thou do ? " He 
 hears 
 An inward voice that whispers — "Wilt thou tempt 
 The dread All Holy One ? No mortal hand, 
 So spake the voice oracular, must draw 
 My veil aside, till I myself shall raise it." 
 " Yet said it not, that same oracular voice. 
 That whoso lifts this veil shall see the Truth ? 
 Be what there may behind, raise it I will ! " 
 Loud rang his voice, " See it I will ! " " Then see ! " 
 A long derisive echo shrilled again. 
 
 Even as he speaks he tears the veil aside, 
 And now, you ask, what there he saw revealed ? 
 I know not. Senseless, cold, and deathly pale. 
 The priests next morning found him stretched along 
 Beside the base of Isis' statue. What 
 He had beheld, or what befell him there. 
 His lips would ne'er divulge. But from his life 
 All cheerfulness was gone for evermore. 
 And deep grief brought him to an early grave. 
 
128 Schiller. 
 
 " Woe to the man ! " These were his warning 
 words, 
 When pressed by those who would not be denied, 
 " Woe to the man, who makes his way to truth 
 Through guilt ! It ne'er will gladden him again." 
 
 [Schiller was probably not a great Egyptologist. He 
 makes the divinity worshipped at Sais masculine. 
 But the oracles there were delivered in the Temple of 
 Neith, the Egyptian Minerva, and on the base of her 
 statue were inscribed the words, " No man has uplifted 
 my skirts.'' Then, again, how comes the statue of Isis 
 in this temple ? She had a separate temple of her own.] 
 
129 
 
 THE IDEALS. 
 
 A ND wilt thou thus inconstant leave me, 
 
 With the loved visions of my heart, 
 Thy hopes to glad, thy fears to grieve me, 
 
 With all relentlessly depart ? 
 Can nought avail to stay thy flight. 
 
 Life's golden time, so glad, so free ? 
 Ah no ! Thy waves sweep on with might 
 Into eternity's dark sea. 
 
 Quenched are those suns, whose radiance flashed 
 
 Joy on the path in youth I trode ; 
 Rudely the fair ideals dashed, 
 
 With which my swelling bosom glowed ; 
 Fled the sweet faith my fancy nursed 
 
 In those it fondly shaped — undone 
 By rude reaUty, what erst 
 
 With such celestial beauty shone. 
 I 
 
130 Schiller. 
 
 As to the sculptured stone of old 
 
 Pygmalion with rapture clung, 
 Till, mantling o'er its features cold, 
 
 A glowing blush sensation flung; 
 Even so fair nature I enwreathed 
 
 With arms of love and young desire, 
 Till she with vital spirit breathed 
 
 Upon my poet's breast of fire ; 
 
 And, by my passion's flame possessed. 
 
 Her silence broke in accents sweet, 
 Returned the kiss my love impressed. 
 
 And with my heart's vibrations beat. 
 Then lived for me the trees, the flowers. 
 
 The fountain's silvery fall, the brook, 
 They sang to me, and of my powers 
 
 Of life e'en soulless things partook. 
 
 My breast with irrepressive love 
 For all created things did yearn. 
 
 In busy throngs I longed to move. 
 Love, reverence, renown, to earn. 
 
 How great, how fair this world, methought. 
 While but in fancy's vision seen ! 
 
The Ideals. 1 3 1 
 
 How little ! after years have taught, 
 That little, ah ! how poor and mean ! 
 
 Winged by a daring wild unrest, 
 
 Unclogged as yet by care or fear, 
 And in his own illusions blest, 
 
 How sprang the youth on life's career ! 
 Up to the blue sky's palest star 
 
 Its flight his winged ambition bore ; — 
 Nought was too high, and nought too far 
 
 For its proud pinion then to soar. 
 
 What could oppress or daunt, while he 
 
 Swept on, untouched by grief or wrong. 
 Before life's car how jocundly 
 
 Sported that fair attendant throng ? 
 Love, sweet enchantress, smiled on him. 
 
 Fortune, with golden chaplet crowned, 
 F'ame, with her starry diadem. 
 
 Truth, pouring sunshine splendours round. 
 
 Yet, ah ! ere half his course was run. 
 He lost them all, that train untrue ; 
 
132 Schiller. 
 
 For coldly turning, one by one, 
 
 They from their votary's side withdrew. 
 
 Fortune with fickle footsteps fled, 
 The soul for knowledge panted still ; 
 
 Doubt round Truth's sun-bright image spread 
 Her clouds and shadows dark and chill. 
 
 I saw Fame's sacred chaplet doomed 
 
 To be by vulgar brows profaned, 
 Awhile Love's springtime sweetly bloomed, 
 
 But, ah ! too soon its beauties waned. 
 And still life's rugged pathway grew 
 
 More lone, more desolate, more drear, 
 And hope scarce one wan glimmer threw. 
 
 My gloom-o'ershadowed path to cheer. 
 
 Who still, of all that glorious band. 
 
 Clung to my side, to guide — befriend me,— 
 Will there at death my comfort stand, 
 
 And to the darksome grave attend me ? 
 Thou, Friendship, who dost cheer the heart, 
 
 When storms are gathering darkly round, 
 Who bear'st in all life's burdens part. 
 
 Thou, whom I early sought and found ! 
 
The Ideals. 133 
 
 And thou, so fain her mate to be, 
 
 Who soothes, like her, the soul's annoys. 
 Thou still unwearied Industry, 
 
 Who slowly forms, and ne'er destroys ! 
 Who to the world's eternal pile 
 
 Adds but some grains of dust, and yet 
 Wipes minutes, days, and years the while 
 
 From Time's all-overwhelming debt. 
 
134 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 T SEE her as, while round her dames attend 
 her, 
 Peerless she shone araid the lovely throng, 
 Her graces dazzling as the sunbeam's splendour. 
 
 I stood afar, nor durst my gaze prolong ; 
 The beauties, that such radiant brightness lend 
 her, 
 Shot ecstasies of pain my frame along, 
 Yet swiftly, as though borne on mounting wings, 
 I snatched the lyre, and wildly swept the strings. 
 
 'Twere vain to tell that moment's raptured feeling, 
 Or to run o'er my passion-warbled lay ; 
 
 I felt in me a new-born power revealing, 
 
 That spoke my bosom's blest emotions' play. 
 
 It was my soul, its flame no more concealing. 
 That now flung proudly all its chains away. 
 
The Meeting. 135 
 
 And from its lowest depths woke strains un- 
 numbered, 
 
 That shrouded there in heavenly sweetness 
 slumbered. 
 
 And when the chords to vibrate long had ended, 
 I marked, as consciousness came back to me. 
 
 Where on her cheeks in changeful strife contended 
 The flush of love with virgin modesty; 
 
 And in my breast all joys of heaven seemed blended, 
 When thus she spoke in sweetest melody — 
 
 Oh, ne'er, save 'mid the choirs of yon blest spheres, 
 
 Shall sounds so rare again delight mine ears ! 
 
 " The faithful heart that pines, its grief unshown. 
 Its wasting passion mutely still suppressing, 
 
 I know its worth, that's to itself unknown, 
 
 And will requite it, fortune's wrongs redressing ; 
 
 What recks how mean its lot ? Love's hand alone 
 Should pluck love's gentle flowers with touch 
 caressing. 
 
 And on the heart confer its guerdon sweet, 
 
 That to its pulses vibrates, beat with beat ! " 
 
136 
 
 EXPECTATION. 
 
 T T ARK, did not the wicket there quiver, 
 
 Creaked not the latch in its bed ? 
 No ! 'twas these aspens old, that shiver 
 In the light breeze o'er my head. 
 
 Oh ! deck thyself, thou green and leafy bower, 
 For soon shall beauty's light thy shades illume ; 
 
 Ye boughs, entwine your dusky arms, and lour 
 Around my love in thickly mantling gloom, 
 
 And on her cheek, ye gales, your fragrance shower. 
 And wanton softly with their rosy bloom. 
 
 What time her lovely form on bounding feet 
 
 Trips lightly o'er the sward to Love's expecting seat. 
 
 Hist ! there is some one brushing 
 The copse-wood with hurrying tread ! 
 
 No ! 'twas but the throstle rushing 
 Startled from its leafy shed. 
 
Expectation. 1 37 
 
 Oh, quench thy torch, bright day ! Ethereal 
 night. 
 
 Enwrap the world in silent folds of thine, 
 Diffuse around us thy empurpling light. 
 
 And o'er our seat mysterious branches twine ! 
 Love brooks no listener's ear to her delight, 
 
 Nor the rude glance of day's unwelcome eyne ! 
 From all save silent Hesperus' serene 
 Mild-beaming gaze must she her raptures screen. 
 
 Hark ! there are voices lowly 
 
 Whispering in yonder brake ! 
 No ! 'tis the swan, is trailing slowly 
 
 O'er the mere her lengthening wake. 
 
 Now floating harmonies mine ear possess ; 
 
 The bubbling spring with pleasing murmur 
 gushes — 
 The flowerets bend 'neath Zephyr's warm caress, 
 
 And with a common joy all nature flushes : 
 The grape the peach's downy cheek would press. 
 
 That hides behind its leaves its wanton blushes — 
 The breeze, in fragrance steeped of opening flowers, 
 Upon my fevered cheek its balmy coolness showers. 
 
138 Schiller. 
 
 Now a light foot hither is wending 
 
 Yon leaf-strown alley along ! 
 No, 'tis the mellow fruit descending 
 
 From its stalk the leaves among ! 
 
 The landscape fades, bedimmed day's fiery eye, 
 In gentle death its golden splendour losing, 
 
 The chaliced flowers, that his hot glances fly. 
 Are boldly now their scented cups unclosing ; 
 
 The rising moon sheds from her path on high 
 Soft radiance on the world in calm reposing ; 
 
 Nature the zone that bound her charms has doffed; 
 
 Her mien of tranquil grace, how beautiful, how soft ! 
 
 What light is yonder streaming. 
 
 Like garments of snowy hue ? 
 Ah ! 'tis the pillars coldly gleaming, 
 
 'Gainst the wall of darkling yew. 
 
 Oh pining heart, why thus sport fondly, why 
 
 Chase the sweet forms that fancy's dreams 
 suggest ? 
 
 Still from my grasp the unreal phantoms fly. 
 No shadowy joy can cool this burning breast. 
 
Expectation. 1 39 
 
 Oh, bring my love in living beauty nigh, 
 
 Let her soft tender hand in mine be pressed. 
 Or but her mantle's shadow round me throw. 
 And with the hues of life the hollow dream shall 
 glow ! 
 
 Then soft as a vision of Eden 
 
 Comes the hour that shall give him to 
 bliss J 
 He slumbered, while close stole the maiden. 
 
 And awoke her beloved with a kiss. 
 
140 
 
 ODE TO JOY. 
 
 T OY, thou brightest of heaven's treasures, 
 
 Daughter of Elysian birth, 
 Chant we now in high strong measures 
 
 At thy shrine our hymn of mirth ! 
 Souls by base convention parted 
 
 Reunite beneath thy spell, 
 Man in brotherhood true-hearted 
 
 Dwells with man where thou dost dwell. 
 
 Millions, let my arms enfold ye ! 
 
 One and all, take, take this kiss ! 
 
 In the heavens a father is. 
 In His love doth ever hold ye. 
 
 Crowned with best of life's best graces, 
 Thou that art, and hast a friend, 
 
Ode to Joy. 141 
 
 Thou that hast to thy embraces 
 
 Won a fond wife, with us blend ! 
 Ay, if there be one heart only 
 
 Thou canst call thine own and keep. 
 Come ; but, if not, hence, thou lonely 
 
 Man of sorrows, hence and weep ! 
 
 Let each heart, with life that swelleth. 
 
 Bow to sympathy and love ; 
 
 They transport the heavens above. 
 Where the unseen Father dwelleth. 
 
 Joy all living earthly creatures 
 
 Drink from Nature's genial breast. 
 Saints and souls of baser features 
 
 Welcome all the rosy guest. 
 She 'twas gave us wine and kisses. 
 
 Friendship firm in death to love. 
 Creeping things all taste her blisses, 
 
 Cherubs of the skies above. 
 
 Bow in adoration purely ! 
 
 World, dost know thy Maker near ? 
 
 There above yon starry sphere 
 Dwells the great Creator surely. 
 
142 Schiller. 
 
 In each vital instinct lurketh 
 
 Joy, of every soul the soul ; 
 Joy the wheels untiring worketh 
 
 Of the mighty moving whole. 
 Flowers spring up, in bloom appearing. 
 
 Suns come forth at her command. 
 Countless orbs, through space careering. 
 
 All are guided by her hand. 
 
 Cheerly tread the path before ye ! 
 Brothers, onward, like the sun. 
 Joying in his course begun ! 
 
 On, like hero to his glory ! 
 
 To the sage she smiles assurance, 
 
 Wildered 'mid researches deep, 
 Guides him that with calm assurance 
 
 Toils up virtue's rugged steep. 
 Where on high in light reposes 
 
 Meek-eyed Truth, her banners wave. 
 She a home of bliss discloses 
 
 'Mid seraph choirs beyond the grave. 
 
Ode to Joy. I43 
 
 Millions, let no fears affright you ! 
 
 Upwards, upwards persevere ! 
 
 There, above yon starry sphere, 
 Is a great God, will requite you ! 
 
 Gods what we can give require not ; 
 
 To be like them is our joy. 
 Cheer the drooping heart and tire not, 
 
 Wipe from every breast annoy. 
 Wrath and wrathful passions spurning. 
 
 Each forgive his deadliest foe, 
 So Remorse's lava burning 
 
 Ne'er shall scorch his heart with woe 1 
 
 Blot all record of offences ! 
 
 Discord, hence, and hostile jars ! 
 
 Brethren, God above the stars 
 The judgment each hath judged dispenses. 
 
 Joy gleams in each sparkling chalice. 
 Wine, bright wine, from every bowl 
 
 Drowns in rude hearts hate and malice, 
 Gives despair a hero's soul. 
 
144 Schiller. 
 
 Up, my brothers, up, and, showing 
 
 In free worship perfect love. 
 Drain this cup with hearts o'erflowing 
 
 To the God that rules above ! 
 
 Whom the circling stars are praising, 
 Whom the hymns of seraphs laud, 
 To the good and bounteous God, 
 
 Drink, your hearts in concords raising ! 
 
 Firmness in the hour of trial, 
 
 Help to innocence and woe, 
 To a promise no denial. 
 
 Truth to friend and truth to foe ! 
 Even to kings a front unswerving. 
 
 Manly, modest, unsubdued. 
 Honour's crown to the deserving. 
 
 Death to falsehood's traitor brood ! 
 
 Knit the bond by ties supernal ! 
 
 Still this faith be yours, be mine ! 
 
 Swear it by this golden wine. 
 Swear it by the Judge Eternal ! 
 
145 
 
 THE PARTITION OF THE EARTH. 
 
 "nPHERE! Take the world!" Jove from his 
 skyey throne 
 
 To mortals cried ; " For you and for your heirs 
 A heritage for ever — all your own : 
 
 But see that each with each like brothers shares ! " 
 
 Then straight to work all that had fingers went, 
 All busy, all alert, both young and old ; 
 
 The farmer was on fruitful harvests bent, 
 
 A-hunting sped the squire through wood and wold. 
 
 The merchant fills his stores from near and far, 
 The abbot culls the choicest oldest wine. 
 
 The king on bridge and highway sets his bar. 
 And says, "The tenth of everything is mine ! " 
 
 Long after all and each had ta'en his share. 
 The poet comes — he had been far away ; 
 K 
 
146 Schiller. 
 
 He looks, and looks in vain, for ever)rwhere 
 
 Nought could he see, but owned a master's sway. 
 
 " Woe's me ! Shall I, of all thy sons the best. 
 Shall I, then, be forgotten, I alone ? " 
 
 Thus his complaint he to great Jove addressed, 
 And flung him down before the Thunderer's 
 throne. 
 
 " Not mine the blame," the god replied, " I trow. 
 If in the Land of Dreams thy life was led ! 
 
 When earth was being parcelled, where wert thou ? " 
 " I was with thee, with thee," the poet said. 
 
 " Mine eye upon thy face in rapture gazed. 
 Thy heaven's full harmonies enchained mine ear ; 
 
 Forgive the soul that, by thy radiance dazed, 
 Let go its hold upon the earthly sphere." 
 
 "What now?" said Jove; "On earth I've nought 
 to give. 
 
 Field, forest, market, they no more are mine ; 
 But in my heaven if thou with me wouldst live. 
 
 Come when thou wilt, a welcome shall be thine ! " 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 FROM LUDWIG UHLAND 
 
149 
 
 COUNT EBERSTEIN. 
 
 T N Spire there was revel and mirth by night, 
 
 The torch and the taper shone, 
 And maidens and youths were bounding light, 
 When with the Kaiser's daughter bright 
 Count Eberstein, that peerless knight, 
 
 The festive dance led on. 
 
 And, whilst in the mazy rounds they twine. 
 
 She may not be silent, not she, 
 If she would, but she whispers him, soft and fine, 
 " Look to thyself. Count Eberstein, 
 This night, good sir, I can well divine. 
 
 Thy fortress will perilled be." 
 
 " Ho ! "—thinks the Count—" for this I stay 
 
 To dance in your royal halls ? 
 But I'll match thee, my liege, by my holy fay ! " 
 
150 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 And he has called for his gallant grey, 
 And has stirred her flanks, and is far away 
 To his beleaguered walls. 
 
 There stealthily under the midnight's cloud 
 
 Advances the wily foe, 
 The ladders are fixed, and aloft they crowd, 
 But little they of the welcome trowed. 
 That hurled them down, with triumph loud, 
 
 In the castle moat below. 
 
 With the morn, in purple and regal pall. 
 
 Did the crafty Kaiser come. 
 Assured in heart of the castle's fall : 
 " Ho ! are these the Count and his merry men all, 
 Are dancing so blithe on the castle wall. 
 
 To the sound of the fife and drum ? " 
 
 " My liege, when next you would forts ensnare. 
 
 Let your eye on the roundels be ; 
 There is one that foots it so rarely there. 
 None other is she than your daughter fair, 
 That for her, and for her alone, I swear, 
 Shall my castle gate go free." 
 
Count Eberstein. 151 
 
 In Eberstein's halls there was mirth by night, 
 
 The torch and the taper shone, 
 And maidens and youths were bounding light, 
 When with the Kaiser's daughter bright 
 Count Eberstein, that peerless knight, 
 
 The festive dance led on. 
 
 And, whilst in the bridal dance they twine, 
 
 He may not be silent, not he. 
 If he would, but he whispers her, soft and fine, 
 " Look to thyself now, ladye mine, 
 This night, by my fay, I can well divine. 
 
 Of a fortress will perilled be." 
 
152 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 T N a garden fair were roaming 
 
 Two lovers, hand in hand — 
 Pale were their cheeks, and frail their forms, 
 As they sat in that flowery land. 
 
 On the cheek they kissed each other, 
 
 Lip close to lip was pressed. 
 They were locked in close embracings, 
 
 They were young and they were blest. 
 
 A bell was tolling sadly, 
 
 The dream had passed away — 
 She in the narrow cloister, 
 
 He in a dungeon lay. 
 
IS3 
 
 THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 
 
 A ND didst thou see that castle, 
 
 That castle by the sea ? 
 The rosy-tinted cloudlets 
 Float o'er it bright and free. 
 
 'Twould be bending down its shadows, 
 
 Into the crystal deep — 
 In the sunset's rays all glowing 
 
 'Twould tower with haughty sweep. 
 
 " Ay, wot ye well, I saw it, 
 
 That castle by the sea, 
 And the pale moon standing o'er it. 
 
 And mists hung on its lee." 
 
 The winds and ocean's rolling. 
 Was their voice fresh and strong ? 
 
154 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 Came from its halls the echoes 
 Of lute and festal song ? 
 
 "The winds and waves around it 
 In sullen stillness slept, 
 
 Forth came a voice of wailing, 
 I heard it, and I wept." 
 
 The King, and his proud ladye, 
 Were they pacing that high hall. 
 
 With crowns of gold, and girded 
 In purple and in pall ? 
 
 And led they not exulting 
 A maid of rarest mould. 
 
 Bright as the sun, and beaming 
 In tresses all of gold ? 
 
 " I saw that King and ladye. 
 The crown decked not their hair ; 
 
 Dark mourning weeds were on them, 
 The maid I saw not there." 
 
iSS 
 
 THE POOR MAN'S SONG. 
 
 A POOR man, poorer none, am I, 
 And walk the world alone, 
 Yet do I call a spirit free, 
 And cheerful heart my own. 
 
 A gleesome child I played about 
 My dear, dear parents' hearth. 
 
 But grief has fallen upon my path, 
 Since they are laid in earth. 
 
 I see rich gardens round me bloom, 
 
 I see the golden grain, 
 My path is bare and barren all. 
 
 And trod with toil and pain. 
 
 And yet, though sick at heart, I'll stand 
 Where happy faces throng, 
 
156 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 And wish good morrow heartily 
 To all that pass along. 
 
 Ah, bounteous God ! Thou leav'st me not 
 
 To comfortless despair; 
 There comes a gentle balm from heaven 
 
 For every child of care. 
 
 The organ and the choral song 
 
 Arrest each passer-by ; 
 Still in each dell thy sacred house 
 
 Points mutely to the sky. 
 
 Still shine the sun, the moon, the stars, 
 
 With blessing even on me, 
 And, when the evening bell rings out. 
 
 Then, Lord, I speak with thee. 
 
 One day shall to the good disclose 
 
 Thy halls of joy and rest, 
 When in my wedding-robes even I 
 
 Shall seat me as thy guest. 
 
157 
 
 THE WREATH. 
 
 A MAID a posy plucked of flowers, 
 That grew upon the sunny lea ; 
 When from the wood a ladye came, 
 Most beautiful to see. 
 
 She met the maiden with a smile, 
 She twined a wreath into her hair, — 
 
 " It blooms not yet, but it will bloom ; 
 Oh, wear it ever there ! " 
 
 And as the maiden grew, and roamed 
 Beneath the moon so pale and wan, 
 
 And tears fell from her, sad and sweet, 
 The wreath to bud began. 
 
 And when a joyous bride she lay 
 
 Clasped close upon her bridegroom's breast, 
 
158 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 Then smiling blossoms burst the folds 
 Of their encircling vest. 
 
 Soon, softly cradled in her lap, 
 
 The mother held a blooming child : 
 
 Then many a golden ftuit from out 
 The leafy chaplet smiled. 
 
 And when, alas ! her love had sunk 
 Into the dark and dusty grave, 
 
 In her dishevelled hair a sere 
 Dry leaf was seen to wave. 
 
 Soon she, too, there beside him lay, 
 
 But still her dear-loved wreath she wore ; 
 
 And it, oh ! wondrous sight to see, 
 Both fruit and blossom bore. 
 
IS9 
 
 THE DYING HEROES. 
 
 T NTO the sea, chased by the Danesmen's swords, 
 
 Fly Sweden's hordes ; 
 The distant chariots ring, in the moonbeam 
 
 The falchions gleam. 
 There, on the corse-strewn field, and dying, lay 
 Sweno the fair, and Ulf the warrior grey. 
 
 SWENO. 
 
 Oh, sire ! To be cut down in youth's full 
 height 
 
 By Noma's might ! 
 My mother now no more shall deck my hair 
 
 With garlands fair ; — 
 My girl, that sang to me, shall hour on hour 
 Look forth for me in vain from her far-seeing 
 tower. 
 
i6o Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 Ulf. 
 
 They will lament ! In the grim dead of night 
 
 We'll haunt their sight : 
 Yet grieve not ! soon their sorrow, deeply nursed, 
 
 Their hearts shall burst : 
 At Odin's banquet then thy maiden, she 
 Of the bright golden locks, shall hand the cup to 
 thee. 
 
 SWENO. 
 
 I had begun, and swept my harp along, 
 
 A festal song. 
 Of kings and heroes, love and battle's rage 
 
 In the old age. 
 Now hangs my harp neglected ; and the gale 
 Steals through its loosened chords with mournful 
 wail. 
 
 Ulf. 
 
 Full in the sun there shines a nobler home, 
 
 Valhalla's dome : 
 The stars roll under it, beneath it deep 
 
 The tempests sweep. 
 
The Dying Heroes. i6i 
 
 There with our sires we'll feast, secure from care ; 
 Lift then thy song on high, and end it there ! 
 
 SWENO. 
 
 Oh, sire ! to be cut down in youth's full height 
 
 By Noma's might ! 
 No lofty deeds in the embattled field 
 
 Blaze on my shield. 
 Twelve judges there are throned with aspect stern. 
 What have I done a hero's seat to earn ? 
 
 Ulf. 
 
 One deed there is a thousand deeds outvies. 
 
 And it they prize — 
 A hero's death, who, for his country's right, 
 
 Has braved the fight. 
 Look, boy ! They fly, they fly, the foe gives back ! 
 The welkin opens, through it lies our track. 
 
1 62 
 
 THE POPPY. 
 
 O EE where, soft cradled by the western winds, 
 'Mong its bright mates the blooming poppy 
 gleams ! 
 The slumb'rous flower, whose garland fitly binds 
 The drowsy temples of the God of Dreams ; — 
 Now vermeil-tinctured, as it had been dipped 
 
 Amid the glow of day's departing red ; 
 Now wan and pallid, as it had been tipped 
 With colours from the sickly moonbeams shed. 
 
 They told me with the voice of warning care. 
 Whoe'er beneath the poppy sank to sleep 
 
 Was borne away to a dim region, where 
 
 Was nought save dreams, dull, passionless, and 
 deep. 
 
 Nor did its spell with waking hours depart, 
 Its chain still hung upon my soul, and all 
 
The Poppy. 163 
 
 That had been nearest, dearest to my heart, 
 Seemed shrouded in a visionary pall. 
 
 In my life's morn, unheeding of the hours. 
 
 Once lay I, musing many an idle tale. 
 Nestling unseen, amid fair clustering flowers, 
 
 Far down within a solitary vale. 
 Oh ! 'twas a time with joy and sweetness rife, 
 
 And, while I scarcely of the change did deem 
 A picture seemed the moving world of life, 
 
 All real things were only as a dream. 
 
 E'er since that hour, within my bosom furled, 
 
 Has lain the golden vision then I knew. 
 My picture — it has been my living world. 
 
 My dream alone been firmly based and true. 
 The shapes, that rise and float around me now, 
 
 Bright as the stars, the eternal stars are they. 
 Oh ! poppy-flower of poesy, do thou 
 
 Amid my locks entwine and bloom for aye ! 
 
1 64 
 
 THE SERENADE. 
 
 "\ 1 THAT soft low sounds are these I hear, 
 
 That come my dreams between ? 
 Oh mother ! look, who may it be, 
 That plays so late at e'en ? 
 
 " I hear no voice, I see no form, 
 
 Oh, rest in slumber mild ! 
 They'll bring no music to thee now, 
 
 My poor, my ailing child." 
 
 It is not music of the earth, 
 
 That makes my heart so light. 
 The angels call me with their songs — 
 
 Oh, mother dear, good-night ! 
 
i6s 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 T^ /"HO'S he, that steals through the castle-garden 
 
 Under the gleam of the pale star-light ? 
 Say, do the arms of love await him. 
 
 Shall he be lapped in its joys to-night ? 
 Ah ! 'tis the minstrel — see, he throws him 
 
 Down at the base of yon high tower. 
 That beetles darkly and grimly o'er him. 
 
 And thus his descant begins to pour. 
 
 " Lady, list from thy lofty lattice ! 
 
 I'll weave for thee a star-bright rhyme. 
 To call up a dream of delight around thee, 
 
 A dream from thy childhood's rosy time. 
 I came, when the vesper bell was ringing. 
 
 E'er day shall have broken, far hence I'll be. 
 And the towers, where my boyhood's years were 
 cradled. 
 
 No more shall I in the sunshine see. 
 
1 66 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 " I came not near, when thou sat'st enthroned 
 
 Amidst the blaze of the banquet hall, 
 When about thee lordly knights were smiling, 
 
 And thou wert the radiant star of all. 
 No ! when thy heart was filled with gladness. 
 
 Thou wouldst not have recked but of mirthful 
 lays. 
 Thou wouldst not have recked of love's com- 
 plainings, 
 
 Or of ties that were twined in our childhood's days. 
 
 " Hence, hence, thou darkness so chill and dreary, 
 
 Bloom out once more, thou shadowy glade ! 
 And bring me that world of soft enchantment, 
 
 Where in my golden prime I strayed. 
 There will I couch in the dewy grass, 
 
 Till I see that child again before me 
 Come tripping along, like a fairy bright, 
 
 And scattering flowers in frolic o'er me. 
 
 " Ah ! that time has been long departed. 
 Yet its memory dies not, will never die ; 
 
 It stands like a luminous rainbow, lighting 
 The gloom of a dark and weltering sky. 
 
The Farewell. 167 
 
 I'll hie me hence, lest the weary present 
 
 Should that sweet gleam of the past destroy ; 
 
 But say, has thy heart not all forgotten 
 
 Our childhood's friendship, our childhood's joy?" 
 
 And there, as he lay beneath the turret, 
 
 Was hushed the song of the minstrel bard. 
 And he heard a sound at the lady's lattice, 
 
 And a bright gem fell on the dusky sward. 
 " Take this ring, and think of me often. 
 
 Think of the old times that shall still be dear — 
 Take it, thou friend of my childhood ! — a jewel 
 
 Glistens upon it, and a tear." 
 
1 68 
 
 DURAND. 
 
 "T^O old Balbi's lordly castle 
 
 With his lute Durand is going ; 
 Blithe his step, for all his bosom 
 With sweet songs is overflowing. 
 
 There a gentle maid, whenever 
 He his minstrel power essays. 
 
 Breathless, flushed with sweet emotion, 
 Shall look down with trembling gaze. 
 
 Underneath the dusky lindens 
 
 Now he sweeps the strings, and featly 
 
 Sings with clear-toned voice the measure. 
 Told his passion's tale most sweetly. 
 
 From the lattice sees he flowerets 
 Bend and wave in friendly greeting, 
 
Durand. 169 
 
 But his song's bright mistress comes not, 
 Nowhere she his glance is meeting. 
 
 And a man comes forth to seek him, 
 Sad his look and heavy-hearted : 
 
 " Break not on death's hallowed slumbers, 
 Lady Bianca's soul hath parted." 
 
 But Durand, the gallant minstrel, 
 Hath no word in answer spoken ; 
 
 Ah ! his eyes are closed in darkness — 
 Ah ! his heart, his heart is broken. 
 
 Yonder in the castle chapel 
 
 Many a torch is gleaming brightly ; 
 
 There the lady rests all starkly, 
 Garlands o'er her scattered lightly. 
 
 Now dismay hath seized the mourners. 
 Fear and joy, and glad surprises, 
 
 For, behold, the lady Bianca 
 From the bier that bound her rises. 
 
170 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 From her trance she hath arisen, 
 
 Burst that long and dreary dreaming ; 
 
 Like a tender maiden blushing 
 In her bridal robes her seeming. 
 
 Still of what had happed unweeting, 
 Still as to some vision clinging, 
 
 Asks she with a fond inquiring, 
 
 " Was Durand not here and singing ? " 
 
 Yes, Durand was here and singing, 
 But his songs are hushed for ever ; 
 
 He has waked the dead from sleeping, 
 None will e'er his slumber sever. 
 
 Now, where saints abide in glory 
 
 Waking, his old love comes o'er him. 
 
 There he seeks his own, his dear one, 
 Who, he deems, is gone before him. 
 
 Through the starry seats of bliss he 
 Roams, by restless longings driven, 
 
 " Bianca ! Bianca ! " calling wildly 
 Through the empty halls of Heaven. 
 
171 
 
 THE STUDENT. 
 
 /^NE morn, as hard by Salamanca 
 I sat within a garden's bound, 
 And read with beating heart in Homer, 
 While sang the nightingales around ; 
 
 How Helen, robed in shining vestments. 
 Went forth upon the battlement, 
 
 And how the Trojan elders marvelled, 
 To see her beauty as she went : 
 
 Till each greybeard, with his finger 
 
 On his lip, his wonder told, 
 "Was never woman seen so lovely ! 
 
 In sooth, she is of heavenly mould ! " 
 
 As thus I lay entranced and spell-bound. 
 Read and read with eager eyes, 
 
172 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 'Mong the leaves I heard a rusthng, 
 And looked round me in surprise. 
 
 On a balcony beside me, 
 
 What bright wonder met me there ! 
 All enrobed in shining vestments 
 
 Stood a maid, as Helen fair. 
 
 And a greybeard was beside her — 
 So grave, so kindly was his mien, 
 
 A senator of Troy's high council 
 I might swear that I had seen. 
 
 But myself was an Achaian ; 
 
 And a new Troy from that day 
 Was that forted garden mansion, 
 
 Where in leaguer close I lay ! 
 
 And, in simple sooth to say it. 
 Eve on eve, the summer long. 
 
 Came I thither without failing. 
 
 Came with lute, and came with song. 
 
The Student. 173 
 
 Told my love in plaintive measures, 
 
 All its passion, all its pain. 
 Till, oh joy ! from that high lattice 
 
 Came sweet answer back again. 
 
 Thus in word and song conversing, 
 Half the fleeting year was told ; 
 
 And e'en this had been denied us, 
 But her sire was deaf and old. 
 
 Though he oft forsook his pillow, 
 Restless, sleepless, full of fears. 
 
 He no more might hear our voices, 
 Than the music of the spheres. 
 
 But one night — the night was gusty. 
 Starless was the sky and black. 
 
 Came not to my wonted signal 
 The expected answer back. 
 
 Only one old toothless lady 
 Listened to my murmurs faint, 
 
174 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 Only Echo, ancient lady, 
 Flung me back my bootless plaint. 
 
 She, my fair, my love, had vanished, 
 Blank were chamber, bower, and hall, 
 
 Hill, and dale, and bloomy garden. 
 All deserted — silent all. 
 
 Ah ! and I had never gathered 
 What her name, or her degree ; 
 
 For to hide them she was plighted. 
 Nor might tell the tale to me. 
 
 Then I vowed, that I should seek her. 
 Wandering ever, far and nigh ; 
 
 Homer now was left unheeded, 
 For Ulysses' self was I. 
 
 I took my lute for my companion. 
 And at every trellised bower, 
 
 And before each high balcony, 
 Sang my carol hour on hour. 
 
The Student. 175 
 
 Sang in town and field the ditty, 
 
 Which in Salamanca's vale 
 To my darling I had chanted 
 
 Ever in the evening pale. 
 
 But the answer that I pine for 
 Never, never more comes back ; 
 
 Echo only, ancient lady, 
 
 To torment me haunts my track. 
 
1/6 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. 
 
 'T^HERE stood a castle long ago, that lordly was 
 to view, 
 
 Full far across the wold it gleamed unto the ocean 
 blue. 
 
 Around it like a garland gay fair fragrant gardens 
 run, 
 
 Where cooling fountains, leaping high, make rain- 
 bows in the sun. 
 
 There rich in land, in conquest rich, a haughty king 
 
 did dwell, 
 Death-pale upon his throne he sat, his look was 
 
 fierce and fell ; 
 For angry fire was in his eye, grim terror in his 
 
 mood. 
 His every word like lashes stings, and what he 
 
 writes is blood. 
 
The Minstrels Curse. 177 
 
 Unto this castle once drew nigh a noble minstrel 
 
 pair, 
 With flowing locks of gold was one, and one with 
 
 grizzled hair ; 
 The old man with his harp upon a dainty jennet 
 
 rode, 
 And by his side in blooming youth his comrade 
 
 blithely strode. 
 
 The old man to the springald said, " Be ready now, 
 
 my boy. 
 Call up our lays that deepest thrill, your fullest tones 
 
 employ ; 
 Sing of life's joys, its sorrows too, and with your 
 
 rarest art — 
 To-day our aim must be to touch the king's dead 
 
 stony heart ! " 
 
 Anon in the high-pillared hall these minstrels twain 
 
 were seen. 
 There sat the king upon the throne, and by his side 
 
 the queen : 
 
 M 
 
178 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 The king, in splendour awful, like the northern 
 
 lights blood-red, 
 The queen, sweet, gentle, there as though the 
 
 moon's soft light were shed. 
 
 The old man swept the strings, he swept them 
 
 wondrously and well, 
 Till richer on the ear their tones and ever richer 
 
 swell ; 
 Then heavenly clear the young man's voice gushed 
 
 in a stream of song. 
 The old man's faintly heard between, like the hum 
 
 of an angel throng. 
 
 They sing of spring and happy love, of the blessfed 
 
 golden time. 
 Of freedom, manly worth, of truth, and a holy faith 
 
 sublime ; 
 They sing of all sweet things, that thrill man's 
 
 breast with pure delight. 
 They sing of all high things, that raise man's heart 
 
 to noblest height. 
 
The Minstrel's Curse. 179 
 
 The throng of courtiers standing round forget to 
 scoff and jeer, 
 
 The king's bluff burly warriors bend a reverential 
 ear, 
 
 The queen, dissolved in sadness blent with sweet- 
 ness, plucks a rose 
 
 From off her breast, and down the flower unto the 
 minstrels throws. 
 
 " My people you've debauched, my queen your fool, 
 
 too, would you make ? " 
 The king cries out with anger mad — and his every 
 
 limb did shake ; 
 He hurled his sword, that flashing through the young 
 
 man's bosom sped, 
 Where now not golden lays sprang up, but jets of 
 
 gore instead. 
 
 As though by tempest scattered, the throng fled all 
 
 aghast, 
 Enfolded in his master's arms the young man 
 
 breathed his last; 
 
i8o Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 He swathes his mantle round him, he sets him on 
 
 his steed, 
 Fast binds him there, and turns away from those 
 
 grim halls with speed. 
 
 But at the outer gate awhile he halts, that minstrel 
 
 grey, 
 And there he grasps his harp, the harp no other 
 
 rival may, 
 Against a marble pillar then he shatters it, and 
 
 wide 
 Through castle and through garden rang his voice, 
 
 as thus he cried : 
 
 " Woe, woe to you, proud halls ! May ne'er again 
 
 sweet music ring 
 Throughout your chambers vast and high of song 
 
 nor yet of string ! 
 No ! only sighs and groans, the tread of slaves that 
 
 crawl in fear. 
 Till vengeful heaven shall hurl you down in dust 
 
 and ruin drear ! 
 
Tlie Minstrel's Curse. 1 8 1 
 
 "Woe, woe to you, sweet gardens, bright with sunny 
 
 May, woe, woe ! 
 To you the face, so altered now, of this dead youth 
 
 I show, 
 That you may wither at the sight, your fountains all 
 
 run dry, 
 So in the days to come that you a stony desert 
 
 lie! 
 
 " Woe, murderer vile, to thee ! Thou curse of 
 
 minstrel-craft, thou shame ! 
 Vain, vain be all thy toils henceforth for wreaths of 
 
 bloody fame ! 
 Thy name, be it forgotten, whelmed in everlasting 
 
 night, 
 And fade into the empty air, like breath of dying 
 
 wight ! " 
 
 Up went the cry of the old man. Heaven heard the 
 
 cry, I ween : 
 The walls are levelled to the dust, the halls no more 
 
 are seen ; 
 
1 82 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 Still doth one lofty pillar tell of splendours passed 
 
 away, 
 But even this, rent through its length, is crumbling 
 
 to decay. 
 
 All round is only barren heath, where fragrant 
 gardens strayed, 
 
 No fountain pierces now the sand, no tree diffuses 
 shade ; 
 
 Of that king's name tells neither lay, nor storied 
 legend old, 
 
 Forgot as though he ne'er had been ! The Min- 
 strel's Curse has told ! 
 
1 83 
 
 THE KING UPON THE TOWER. 
 
 'TTHERE lie they all, — the mountains grey, 
 
 The dusky valleys, all tranquil lie ; 
 Sleep reigns afar, and the winds that play 
 Bring not a wail as they pass me by. 
 
 I have cared for all, and for all have striven. 
 There was care in my goblets of sparkling wine; 
 
 Now the night it is come, and the living heaven. 
 To gladden this weary soul of mine. 
 
 Oh thou golden scroll, I look to thee 
 
 Through the starry waste with a soul of love ; 
 
 How I list to the wondrous harmony. 
 Scarce heard, of thy spheres as they roll above ! 
 
 My hair is grizzled, and dimmed my sight. 
 
 In hall hangs the brand that hath quelled my foes, 
 
184 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 My life long I've spoken, and done the right,- 
 When, oh when, shall I taste repose ? 
 
 Oh blest repose ! Oh, what delays 
 
 Thy coming, thou glorious night, so long, 
 
 When I'll see the stars in their fullest blaze, 
 And list to the swell of their loudest song ? 
 
1 85 
 
 THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER. 
 
 "D Y the Rhine were roaming gallants three, 
 And they turned them into an hostelrie. 
 
 " Dame hostess, have you good beer and wine, 
 And how is your daughter, so bonny and fine ? " 
 
 " My beer and wine are both fresh and bright — 
 My daughter is laid in her shroud to-night." 
 
 And when they stept into the chamber dark, 
 There in her shroud she lay pale and stark. 
 
 The first from her face the pall up took, 
 And gazed at it long with sorrowful look. 
 
 " Well away ! Wert thou living, thou lovely May, 
 I should love thee evermore from this day ! " 
 
1 86 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 The second put back the pall again, 
 
 And turned him away, and to weep was fain. 
 
 " Woe's me ! to see thee laid on thy bier ! 
 I have loved thee so many a weary year ! " 
 
 The third took it up again anon, 
 And kissed her upon the lips so wan : 
 
 " I have loved thee ever, I love thee to-day, 
 And will love thee, my winsome bride, alway ! " 
 
1 87 
 
 DANTE. 
 
 "\^7AS it from a gate of Florence, 
 
 Or from Heaven's own portal fair, 
 Yon blithe throng at morning issued, 
 In the sparkling springtide air ? 
 
 Children fair as meek-eyed angels, 
 Garlands in their locks entwined, 
 
 Down into the flowery valley, 
 Singing, dancing, gaily wind. 
 
 'Neath a laurel stood young Dante, 
 
 Thrilhng to the heart to see. 
 In the fairest of those damsels, 
 
 Her who should his angel be. 
 
 Rustling in the spring's light breezes. 
 Stirred not every leaf above ? 
 
1 88 Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 Dante's young soul, did it thrill not 
 To the mastering touch of love ? 
 
 Yes ! the stream of song for ever 
 Filled his bosom from that day : 
 
 Love, sweet love, inspired each measure. 
 Love and his resistless sway. 
 
 When again he saw that maiden 
 Blooming in her beauty's spring. 
 
 His poetic might had ripened 
 Into stately blossoming. 
 
 Comes from forth the gate of Florence 
 Once again a thronging train, 
 
 Slowly now and full of sadness. 
 To a dull funereal strain. 
 
 'Neath yon inky pall, inwoven 
 With a snow-white cross they bear, 
 
 In her prime too early gathered, 
 Beatrice, the young, the fair. 
 
Dante. 189 
 
 In his chamber lone sat Dante, 
 Shades of evening fill the place — 
 
 Heard afar the death-bell booming, 
 Heard, and covered up his face. 
 
 To the forest gloom he wandered. 
 Where its shadows thickest fell ; 
 
 From that hour his measures sounded 
 Like the solemn passing-bell. 
 
 But in his worst desolation, 
 When in moody grief he strayed, 
 
 Came to him a blessfed spirit 
 From his own departed maid : 
 
 One that by the hand did guide him 
 Through the fiercest fires of bale, 
 
 Where his earthly pangs grew silent. 
 Seeing damned spirits quail. 
 
 On his murky path advancing. 
 Soon the glad light met his eyes ; 
 
igo Ludwig Uhland. 
 
 And his love was there to greet him 
 At the gate of Paradise. 
 
 High and higher still they mounted — 
 Through the glories of the sky, 
 
 She the sun of suns intently 
 Viewing with undazzled eye. 
 
 He his gaze still sideways turning, 
 To his loved companion's face, 
 
 Which reflected back the radiance 
 Of that ever-glorious place. 
 
 All that story he hath woven 
 In a lay of heavenly pride, 
 
 Lasting as the scars by lightning 
 Graven upon the mountain's side. 
 
 Yes ! Full worthy to be honoured 
 'Mongst all bards as The Divine, 
 
 Dante, who his earthly passion 
 Did to heavenly love refine. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS TRANSLATIONS 
 
193 
 
 ST PETER AND THE CHERRIES. 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 BY GOETHE. 
 
 A ^ THILE yet, despised and very low, 
 Our Lord upon the earth did go, 
 And many disciples came to him, 
 To whom the most of his words were dim, 
 He loved in the streets to keep his court. 
 And wherever the multitudes most resort ; 
 For under the heaven's broad arch of blue. 
 We always speak better — more freely too. 
 There from his holy lips they all 
 Might hear the highest instruction fall. 
 And he by example and life's pure grace 
 A temple made of each market-place. 
 
194 Miscellaneous. 
 
 As once to a village, calm of mind, 
 He was sauntering on, with his flock behind, 
 A gleam on the road his attention drew, 
 And this was a broken horse's shoe. 
 Thereupon he to St Peter said, 
 " Pick up that iron ! " St Peter's head 
 With stuff of another sort did teem : 
 Just then he was lost in a splendid dream. 
 The world, he imagined, by him was swayed, 
 And all mankind his behests obeyed, 
 For by no bounds was his brain controlled : 
 So, nursing his fancies, on he strolled. 
 The waif for him was much too small. 
 It should have been crown, and sceptre, and ball ; 
 He had something else, thought he, to do. 
 Than to stoop for the half of a horse's shoe ; 
 And, turning his head, he no more stirred. 
 Than if there had reached him never a word. 
 
 Our Lord, who at no time anger knew, 
 Himself picks up the horse's shoe. 
 And, making no comment, walks gently on. 
 When they at the village arrived anon, 
 They pass by a blacksmith's door, where he 
 Receives for the iron three oboli. 
 
St Peter and the Cherries. 195 
 
 Thence, crossing the market, our Lord espies 
 
 Some cherries for sale of a goodly size, 
 
 And buys of them as many or few 
 
 As for three-halfpence a man may do. 
 
 Which he in his usual quiet way 
 
 In his sleeve puts by, as best he may. 
 
 Now forth at the opposite gate they fare 
 O'er field and meadow. No house was there, 
 Nor yet so much as a tree in sight ; 
 The heat was great, and the sun at height. 
 A place it was, where a draught of cold 
 Spring water were worth its weight in gold. 
 Our Lord, as ever, went first of all, 
 And he lets, unnoticed, a cherry fall. 
 Then in a moment St Peter stopped. 
 As though 'twas an apple of gold had dropped. 
 Rarely he relished the fruit, and when 
 Our Lord had advanced some space, again 
 He drops another close by his heel, 
 For which right soon did St Peter kneel ; 
 And over and over he stopped for all 
 The cherries our Lord by the way let fall. 
 
 So on for a little while they sped, 
 When thus with 9. smile our Master said : 
 
ig6 Miscellaneous. 
 
 " Had you but stooped, when first you should, 
 Much had you found it for your good. 
 Whoever looks lightly on little things. 
 Much trouble for less on his shoulders brings ! " 
 
197 
 
 FROM THE ROMAN ELEGIES. 
 
 BY GOETHE. 
 
 "DLUSH not, my love, at the thought, thou 
 yieldedst so soon to my passion. 
 Trust me, I think it no shame, think it no vileness 
 in thee ! 
 Shafts from the quiver of Amor have manifold 
 consequence. Some scratch. 
 And the heart sickens for years with the insidious 
 bane. 
 Others drawn home to the head, full plumed, and 
 cruelly pointed. 
 Pierce to the marrow, and straight kindle the 
 blood into flame. 
 
198 Miscellaneous. 
 
 In the heroical age, when goddess and god were 
 the lovers, 
 Scarce did they look but they longed, longing 
 they rushed to enjoy. 
 Think'st thou, Love's goddess hung back, when 
 deep in the forests of Ida 
 She with a thrill of delight first her Anchises 
 beheld. 
 Coyly had Luna delayed to fondle the beautiful 
 sleeper, 
 Soon had Aurora in spite wakened the boy from 
 his dream. 
 In the thronged festival Hero's eyes met Leander's, 
 and straightway 
 Burning with passion he plunged into the ocean 
 by night. 
 Rhea Silvia, the royal maid, going down to the 
 Tiber, 
 Bearing her pitcher, is there ravished and won by 
 the god. 
 Thus unto Mars were begotten sons ; thereafter the 
 she-wolf 
 Suckles the twin boys, and Rome empress is 
 styled of the world. 
 
From the Roman Elegies. 199 
 
 II. 
 
 ■ T OY ! Now on classical soil I feel the poetic 
 afflatus, 
 Clearer and sweeter to me speaketh the long-ago 
 world. 
 Here the wisdom I con, turn over the works, of 
 the ancients 
 With never - wearying hand, daily with deeper 
 delight. 
 Night long, however, for me finds Amor quite other 
 employment. 
 But what in learning I lose, two-fold in rapture I 
 gain. 
 Do I not learn, oh yes, as I scan the beautiful 
 bosom's 
 Curves, as I lead my hand down o'er the ivory 
 limbs ? 
 Dawns on me then all the marble importeth ; I 
 think, I compare, I 
 See with an eye that feels, feel with a hand that 
 sees. 
 
200 Miscellaneous. 
 
 So, some hours of the day though she that I love 
 from me steals, she 
 Gives to me hours of the night, makes me the 
 richest amends. 
 Not all in kisses 'tis spent, with rational talk it is 
 seasoned ; 
 When into slumber she sinks, there much musing 
 Hie, 
 Oft in her circling arms enclasped my verse has 
 been moulded, 
 And the hexameter's beat lightly have I on her 
 back 
 Counted with fingering hand : she breathes in 
 daintiest slumber. 
 And a glow from her breath warms my very 
 heart's core : 
 Amor the while trims the lamp, and thinks of the 
 far-away time, when 
 Similar services he for his Triumvirs performed. 
 
From the Roman Elegies. 201 
 
 III. 
 
 /^H, how lightsome I feel in Rome, as the drear 
 time I think on, 
 Back in the north when the days over me hung 
 like a pall ! 
 Gloomy the sky, on my brain it pressed like lead, 
 and the world lay 
 Dark without colour or form, round souls weary 
 and sad : 
 And I, groping to find for my unsatisfied spirit 
 Some way out of the gloom, into mute reverie 
 sank. 
 Now my forehead around is the sheen of an ether 
 pellucid, 
 Phoebus, God Phcebus evokes colours and forms 
 all divine. 
 Ge mmed with stars is the night, it rings with mirth 
 and with music. 
 Brighter too shineth the night, brighter than day 
 in the north. 
 
202 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Unto me mortal what rapture ! Dream I ? Oh 
 Jupiter Father, 
 Does thy ambrosial house welcome me in as a 
 guest ? 
 Kneeling I stretch out my hands to thy knees in 
 devout supplication, 
 Crying, Take me, oh take, Jupiter Xenius, 
 home ! 
 How I found my way hither, tell can I not. It was 
 Hebe 
 Stayed the wanderer's steps, brought him here to 
 thy halls. 
 Was thy behest, that she should bring thee a hero 
 up hither ? 
 Made the fair child a mistake ? Pardon ! Let 
 mine be the gain ! 
 'Twas thy daughter Fortuna, too. She, as be- 
 seemeth a maiden, 
 Scatters the costliest gifts, swayed by the veriest 
 whim. 
 Art thou the god that gives welcome ? From thy 
 Olympus, then, thrust not 
 Back to his native earth him that hath hither- 
 ward strayed ! 
 
From the Roman Elegies. 203 
 
 "Poet, where wouldest mount to?" Pardon! A 
 second Olympus 
 Is the Capitoline Mount, towering skyward to 
 thee. 
 Here, Jove, let me remain, and Hermes, let him 
 lead me later. 
 On by Cestius' Tomb, gently to Oreus adown ! 
 
204 
 
 THE ATHENIAN GIRL. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF WILHELM MULLER. 
 
 T HAVE planted beds of roses 'neath my window, 
 
 and they bloom 
 Fresh and bright, and send their fragrance sweetly 
 
 up into my room ; 
 And the nightingales they warble love and joy from 
 
 out the spray — 
 Hush, ye warblers, yet a little ! know ye not he is 
 
 away — 
 That my true love hath departed for the field with 
 
 sword and sperth, 
 For the Holy Cross to battle, and for freedom, 
 
 home, and hearth ? 
 Saw ye not how I unloosened from my neck my 
 
 pearlin' band ? — 
 To the man of God I gave it for my darling father- 
 land. 
 
The Athenian Girl. 205 
 
 Saw ye not that months have vanished since I last 
 
 adorned my hair ? 
 Have ye seen me pluck one rosebud here through 
 
 all these months of care ? 
 Hush, ye warblers, yet a little, till my love comes 
 
 from the plain, 
 Comes to teach us freedom's praises in a new and 
 
 nobler strain ! 
 Bloom, ye roses, yet a little, and I'll twine ye in my 
 
 hair, 
 When, to greet our conquering heroes, forth with 
 
 song and dance we fare ! 
 Oh ! and if thou shouldst return not with the rest, 
 
 my darling boy, 
 ^Vhere, oh where am I to hide me from the revel 
 
 and the joy? 
 By my rosebeds couching lowly, chaplets there of 
 
 thorns I'll twine, 
 And one bird with me shall tarry, mingling its 
 
 lament with mine ! 
 
206 
 
 THE MAINOTE'S WIDOW. 
 
 FROM THE SAME. 
 
 ^ ASHES seven upon his forehead, on his bosom 
 
 gashes three, 
 In his hand his red glaive, in his eye the pride of 
 
 victory, 
 There he lay upon the field, and, scattered round 
 
 him thickly near. 
 Lay the weapons of his foemen — pike and rifle, 
 
 sword and spear. 
 But so near to him they lay not, who had borne 
 
 them in the fray ; 
 From the hero, backward reeling, rolled in dust and 
 
 gore they lay. 
 — " Daughter, fetch me forth the garland, hangs 
 
 above my couch, but see, 
 That you grasp it lightly — fragile, sere, and withered 
 
 it must be. 
 
The Mainot^s Widow. 207 
 
 As upon my bridal morning, shall it wreathe my 
 
 brows anew, 
 And upon this field of slaughter I our bridal bed 
 
 will strew. 
 Bring with you fresh flowers the fairest, lay them on 
 
 my bridegroom's bed — 
 Soft and pleasant be their greeting to my noble 
 
 sleeper's head ! 
 Roses I will plant around him, that in after days 
 
 shall wave 
 In the vale of the Eurotas, fresh and fragrant from 
 
 his grave ; 
 And I'll twine for thee a chaplet of their flowers, my 
 
 daughter dear, 
 When some youth of noble mettle wins thee for his 
 
 plighted fere — 
 One who for his bridal present bears with him a 
 
 Turkish head 
 For each blood-red rose that blossoms o'er thy 
 
 father's bloody bed. 
 But to-morrow morning early, ere my bridegroom is 
 
 awake, 
 I will doflf my festive garments, from my brow the 
 
 garland take. 
 
2o8 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And, arrayed in weeds of mourning, to the lonely 
 
 greenwood creep, 
 Not to hear the nightingale that warbles from the 
 
 thicket deep — 
 No ! to seek me out a tree that bud has none nor 
 
 leafy spray. 
 Where the widowed turtle-dovelet sits and plains the 
 
 livelong day. 
 By the spring whose crystal waters still she dabbles 
 
 with her wing, 
 Ere she drinks or bathes within it, since she lost 
 
 her bosom's king. 
 There I'll lay me down to wither, fade, and droop 
 
 beneath the sun, 
 Where the rain shall wash the tear-drops as adown 
 
 my cheeks they run, 
 And we'll wage a woful conflict there, my turtle- 
 dove and I, 
 Who shall mourn her love the truest — who for him 
 
 shall soonest die ! " 
 
209 
 
 MARK BOZZARI. 
 
 FROM THE SAME. 
 
 /^PEN wide, proud Missolonghi, open wide thy 
 
 portals high, 
 Where repose the bones of heroes, teach us cheer- 
 fully to die ! 
 Open wide thy lofty portals, open wide thy vaults 
 
 profound ; 
 Up, and scatter laurel garlands to the breeze and on 
 
 the ground ! 
 Mark Bozzari's noble body is the freight to thee we 
 
 bear, 
 Mark Bozzari's ! Who for hero great as he to weep 
 
 will dare ? 
 Tell his wounds, his victories over ! Which in 
 
 number greatest be ? 
 Every victory hath its wound, and every wound its 
 
 victory ! 
 
 o 
 
2 1 o Miscellaneous. 
 
 See, a turbaned head is grimly set on all our lances 
 here ! 
 
 See, how the Osmanli's banner swathes in purple 
 folds his bier ! 
 
 See, oh, see the latest trophies, which our hero's 
 glory sealed, 
 
 When his glaive with gore was drunken on great 
 Karpinissi's field ! 
 
 In the jnurkiest hour of midnight did we at his call 
 arise. 
 
 Through the gloom like lightning-flashes flashed the 
 fury from our eyes ; 
 
 With a shout, across our knees we snapped the scab- 
 bards of our swords. 
 
 Better down to mow the harvest of the mellow 
 Turkish hordes ; 
 
 And we : clasped our hands together, and each 
 warrior stroked his beard, 
 
 And one: stamped the sward, another rubbed his 
 blade, and vowed its weird. 
 
 Then Bozzari's voice resounded : " On, to the bar- 
 barian's lair ! 
 
 On, and follow me, my brothers, see you keep to- 
 gether there ! 
 
Mark Bozzari. 211 
 
 Should you miss me, you will find me surely in the 
 
 Pasha's tent ! 
 On, with God ! Through Him our foemen, death 
 
 itself through Him is sent ! 
 On ! " And swift he snatched the bugle from the 
 
 hands of him that blew, 
 And himself awoke a summons that o'er dale and 
 
 mountain flew, 
 Till each rock and cliff made answer clear and 
 
 clearer to the call, 
 But a clearer echo sounded in the bosom of us 
 
 all! 
 As from midnight's battlemented keep the lightnings 
 
 of the Lord 
 Sweep, so swept our swords, and smote the tyrants 
 
 and their slavish horde ; 
 As the trump of doom shall waken sinners in their 
 
 graves that lie. 
 So through all the Turkish leaguer thundered his 
 
 appalling cry : 
 " Mark Bozzari ! Mark Bozzari ! Suliotes, smite 
 
 them in their lair ! " 
 Such the goodly morning greeting that we gave the 
 
 sleepers there 
 
212 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And they staggered from their slumber, and they 
 
 ran from street to street. 
 Ran like sheep without a shepherd, striking wild at 
 
 all they meet ; 
 Ran, and frenzied by Death's angels, who amidst 
 
 their myriads strayed. 
 Brother, in bewildered fury, dashed and fell on 
 
 brother's blade. 
 Ask the night of our achievements ! It beheld us 
 
 in the fight, 
 But the day will never credit what we did in yonder 
 
 night. 
 Greeks by hundreds, Turks by thousands, there like 
 
 scattered seed they lay, 
 On the field of Karpinissi, when the morning broke 
 
 in grey. 
 Mark Bozzari, Mark Bozzari, and we found thee 
 
 gashed and mown ; 
 By thy sword alone we knew thee, knew thee by thy 
 
 wounds alone ; 
 By the wounds thy hand had cloven, by the wounds 
 
 that seamed thy breast. 
 Lying, as thou hadst foretold us, in the Pasha's tent 
 
 at rest ! 
 
Mark Bozzan. 213 
 
 Open wide, proud Missolonghi, open wide thy 
 portals high, 
 
 Where repose the bones of heroes, teach us cheer- 
 fully to die ! 
 
 Open wide thy vaults ! Within their holy bounds a 
 couch we'd make. 
 
 Where our hero, laid with heroes, may his long last 
 slumber take ! 
 
 Rest beside that Rock of Honour, brave Count 
 Nermann, rest thy head, 
 
 Till, at the archangel's trumpet, all the graves give 
 up their dead ! 
 
214 
 
 SONG BEFORE BATTLE. 
 
 FROM THE SAME. 
 
 T^ WHOE'ER for freedom fights and falls, his fame 
 
 no blight shall know, 
 As long as through heaven's free expanse the breezes 
 
 freely blow. 
 As long as in the forest wild the green leaves flutter 
 
 free, 
 As long as rivers, mountain-born, roll freely to the sea, 
 As long as free the eagle's wing exulting cleaves the 
 
 skies, 
 As long as from a freeman's heart a freeman's breath 
 
 doth rise. 
 
 Whoe'er for freedom fights and falls, his fame no 
 blight shall know, 
 As long as spirits of the free through earth and air 
 shall go ; 
 
« 
 
 Song before Battle. 215 
 
 Through ^arth and air a spirit-band of heroes moves 
 always, 
 
 'Tis near us at the dead of night, and in the noon- 
 tide's blaze, 
 
 In the storm that levels towering pines, and in the 
 breeze that waves 
 
 With low and gentle breath the grass upon our 
 fathers' graves. 
 
 There's not a cradle in the bounds of Hellas broad 
 and fair, v 
 
 But the spirit of our free-born sires is surely hover- 
 ing there. 
 
 It breathes in dreams of fairyland upon the infant's 
 brain, 
 
 And in his first sleep dedicates the child to man- 
 hood's pain ; 
 
 Its summons lures the youth to stand, with new- 
 born joy possessed. 
 
 Where once a freeman fell, and there it fires his 
 thrilling breast. 
 
 And a shudder runs through all his frame; he 
 knows not if it be 
 
 A throb of rapture, or the first sharp pang of 
 agony. 
 
2 1 6 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Come, swell our banners on the breeze, thou sacred 
 spirit-band. 
 
 Give wings to every warrior's foot, and nerve to 
 every hand. 
 
 We go to strike for freedom, to break the oppres- 
 sor's rod, 
 
 We go to battle and to death for our country and 
 our God. 
 
 Ye are with us, we hear your wings, we hear in 
 magic tone 
 
 Your spirit-voice the Paean swell, and mingle with 
 our own. 
 
 Ye are with us, ye throng around, — you from Ther- 
 mopylae, 
 
 You from the verdant Marathon, you from the azure 
 sea, 
 
 By the cloud-capped rocks of Mykale, at Salamis, — 
 all you 
 
 From field and forest, mount and glen, the land of 
 Hellas through ! 
 
 Whoe'er for freedom fights and falls, his fame no 
 blight shall know, 
 As long as through heaven's free expanse the breezes 
 freely blow. 
 
Song before Battle. 217 
 
 As long as in the forest wild the green leaves flutter 
 
 free, 
 As long as rivers, mountain-bom, roll freely to the 
 
 sea. 
 As long as free the eagle's wing exulting cleaves the 
 
 skies, 
 As long as from a freeman's heart a freeman's breath 
 
 doth rise. 
 
2l8 
 
 CHIDHER. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK RUCKERT. 
 
 O POKE Chidher the immortal, the ever young : 
 
 " I passed by a city, a man stood near. 
 Plucking fruit that in a fair garden hung ; 
 
 I asked : ' How long has the city been here ? ' 
 He said, as the clustering fruit he caught, 
 ' There was always a city on this spot. 
 And so there will be, till time is not.' 
 Five hundred years rolled by, before 
 I was standing upon that spot once more. 
 
 " Not a trace of the city could be seen ; 
 
 A shepherd lay piping his song alone. 
 His flock were browsing the herbage green ; 
 
 I asked : ' How long has the city been gone ? ' 
 
Chidher. 219 
 
 He said, while still on his pipe he played ; — 
 ' Fresh flowers spring up, as the others fade, 
 Here I and my flocks have ever strayed.' 
 Five hundred years rolled by, as before : 
 I was standing upon that spot once more. 
 
 " I found there a sea, with billows crested ; 
 
 A man was shooting his fishing-gear. 
 And, as from the heavy draught he rested, 
 
 I asked : ' How long has the sea been here ? ' 
 He smiled at my question, and thus he spoke ; 
 ' As long as these waves in foam have broke. 
 It has been the haunt of us fisher-folk.' 
 
 Five hundred years rolled by, as before : 
 I was standing upon that spot once more. 
 
 " A tall spreading forest there I found, 
 And a woodman old in its shadows drear ; 
 
 The strokes of his axe broke the silence round : 
 I asked : ' How old is the forest here ? ' 
 
 He said : ' All the days of my life I have known 
 
 This forest a forest, and dwelt alone 
 
 'Mong trees that ever were growing or grown.' 
 
220 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Five hundred years rolled by, as before : 
 I was standing upon that spot once more. 
 
 '"Twas a city now, where the hum resounded 
 
 Of crowds on a festive holiday : 
 I asked : ' What time was the city founded ? 
 
 The forest, the sea, and pipe — where are they ? ' 
 They cried, of my question taking no thought, 
 'Twas ever the same as now — this spot. 
 And so it will be till time is not.' 
 
 And when five hundred years have rolled by, 
 
 as before, 
 I'll be standing upon that spot once more." 
 
221 
 
 THE GRAVE OF DIMOS. 
 
 FROM THE ROMAIC. 
 
 '"PHE sun is setting 'mong the hills: "Bring 
 
 water," Dimos said — 
 " Bring water, oh my children ! your evening meal 
 
 is spread ; 
 And thou, Lampraki, nephew mine, here sit thee 
 
 down by me — 
 There ! — take these weapons I have borne, and 
 
 henceforth captain be. 
 
 " But you, my children, take my blade — my 
 
 widowed blade — and go, 
 Cut down the branches for a bed, where I may lay 
 
 me low. 
 
222 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And bring me quick a holy man — confession I 
 
 would make, 
 And number all my sins to him, while yet I am 
 
 awake. 
 
 "Full thirty years an Armatole — full twenty sum- 
 mers I 
 
 A Klepht have been, but now I feel my time has 
 come to die. 
 
 Oh ! make my tomb, and make it both broad and 
 high, that so 
 
 I may have space to battle, if need be, with the 
 foe! 
 
 " And in the wall upon the right an open window 
 
 make, 
 That when beneath the melting snows the Spring 
 
 begins to wake. 
 The swallows fluttering by to me the joyful news 
 
 may bring. 
 And I may hear the nightingales in May's fair 
 
 morning sing ! " 
 
223 
 
 CHARON AND THE SOULS. 
 
 FROM THE ROMAIC. 
 
 ' I "HERE is darkness on the mountains, a dark 
 and louring veil — 
 
 Is it the rain is falling there ? or beats the driving 
 hail? 
 
 'Tis not the hail is driving there, 'tis not the falling 
 rain, 
 
 But Charon passing o'er them with his melancholy- 
 train. 
 
 He drives the young before him, and behind the 
 
 old men go. 
 And he leads the tender little ones linked to his 
 
 saddle-bow ; 
 
224 Miscellaneous. 
 
 The old men lift their hands to him, imploring him 
 
 to stay, 
 And with a voice of wail the young cry out, and thus 
 
 they say : 
 
 " Oh, Charon, stay ! dear Charon ! by yonder little 
 
 town. 
 By the fountain cool that near the gate is wimpling 
 
 sweetly down. 
 Fain would the old its waters drink, the young the 
 
 disc would fling. 
 And the tender little children pluck bright flowerets 
 
 by the spring.'' 
 
 " Push on, push on ! I will not stay by yonder little 
 
 town. 
 By the fountain cool that near the gate is wimpling 
 
 sweetly down ; 
 The mothers coming to the spring would know the 
 
 babes they bore. 
 And wives and husbands meeting there would ne'er 
 
 be parted more." 
 
225 
 
 lOTIS DYING. A FRAGMENT. 
 
 FROM THE ROMAIC. 
 
 T ROSE up in the morning, two hours ere break 
 
 of day, 
 And o'er the rocks to wash me in the fountain took 
 
 my way ; 
 I heard a moaning 'mong the pines, a sound of heavy 
 
 grief: 
 Within the tents the robbers were weeping for their 
 
 chief. 
 
 Rise up, rise up, lotis mine, shake off this heavy 
 
 sleep. 
 The soldiers are upon us, — they hew us down like 
 
 sheep. 
 
226 Miscellaneous. 
 
 "What shall I say, brave comrades? Here is but 
 
 sorry cheer, 
 This wound of mine is mortal, — these balls are 
 
 burning here ! 
 
 " Here ! Lift me up, my children, and place me on 
 
 a seat, 
 And bring to me a cup of wine, old mountain wine, 
 
 and sweet, 
 That I may drink and warm away this deadly chill, 
 
 and sing 
 A song, before I leave you, of dirge and sorrowing. 
 
 " Oh, were I on the mountains, beneath the forest's 
 
 shade. 
 And heard the bleating of the sheep from every 
 
 grassy glade ! " 
 
227 
 
 NAPOLEON'S MIDNIGHT REVIEW. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF ZEDLITZ. 
 
 A T midnight, from the sullen sleep of death the 
 drummer rose, 
 The night-winds wail, the moonbeams pale are hid 
 
 as forth he goes ; 
 With solemn air and measured step he paces on his 
 
 rounds, 
 And ever and anon with might the doubling drum 
 he sounds. 
 
 His fleshless arras alternately the rattling sticks let 
 fall. 
 
 By turns they beat in rattlings meet r'eveill'e and roll- 
 call ; 
 
228 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Oh, strangely drear fell on the ear the echoes of that 
 
 drum, 
 Old soldiers from their graves start up, and to its 
 
 summons come. 
 
 They who repose 'mong northern snows, in icy cere- 
 ments lapped, 
 
 Or in the mould of Italy all sweltering are 
 wrapped. 
 
 Who sleep beneath the oosy Nile, or desert's whirl- 
 ing sand. 
 
 Break from their graves, and armfed all spring up at 
 the command. 
 
 And at midnight from death's sullen sleep the trum- 
 peter arose. 
 
 He mounts his steed, and loud and long his pealing 
 trumpet blows. 
 
 Each horseman heard it, as he lay, deep in his gory 
 shroud. 
 
 And to the call these heroes all on airy coursers 
 crowd. 
 
Napoleon's Midnight Review. 229 
 
 Deep gash and scar their bodies mar — they were a 
 
 ghastly file — 
 And underneath the glittering casques their blenched 
 
 sculls grimly smile. 
 With haughty mien they grasp their swords within 
 
 their bony hands ; 
 'Twould fright the brave to see them wave their long 
 
 and gleaming brands. 
 
 And at midnight from the sullen sleep of death the 
 
 chief arose, 
 Behind him move his officers as slowly forth he 
 
 goes. 
 His hat is small, — upon his coat no star or crest is 
 
 strung, 
 And by his side a little sword — his only arms — is 
 
 hung. 
 
 The wan moon threw a livid hue across the mighty 
 
 plain, 
 As he that wore the little hat stepped proudly forth 
 
 again, — 
 
230 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And well these grizzly warriors their little chieftain 
 
 knew, 
 For whom they left their graves that night to muster 
 
 in review. 
 
 " Present — recover arms ! " the cry runs round in 
 
 eager hum ; — 
 Before him all that host defiles, while rolls the 
 
 doubling drum. 
 " Halt !" — then he calls, — his generals and captains 
 
 cluster near, — 
 He turns to one that stands beside, and whispers in 
 
 his ear. 
 
 From rank to rank, from rear to flank it rings along 
 
 the Seine, 
 The word that chieftain gives is " France ! " — the 
 
 answer, " SAiNXE-H^LfeNE ! " 
 And thus departed Csesar holds at midnight hour 
 
 alway 
 The grand review of his old bands in the Champs 
 
 Elysees. 
 
231 
 
 THE ANGEL AND THE INFANT. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF JEAN REBOUL. 
 
 A N angel over a cradle stood, 
 
 His face was bright with an inward gleam, 
 And he seemed on his own fair forfti to brood 
 In the mirror pure of a glassy stream. 
 
 " Oh, come to my home, sweet babe so fair," 
 He murmured, " Come ! come with me now ! 
 
 Oh, we shall be happy together there, 
 The earth is unworthy of such as thou. 
 
 " Its gladness is never without alloy. 
 Some pang from its best delights will rise. 
 
 There moans a wail through its shouts of joy, 
 And all its pleasures are clogged with sighs. 
 
232 Miscellaneous. 
 
 " O'er every feast is the fear of doom, 
 No sky so clear and serene, but may 
 
 Be blackened and riven with storm and gloom 
 Before the dawn of another day. 
 
 " On that pure brow shall the trouble pass 
 Of hopes deceived, and of haunting fears ? 
 
 Shall those blue eyes be dimmed, alas ! 
 By the bitter baptismal rain of tears ? 
 
 " No, no ! dear babe, through the fields of space 
 Thou wilt fly with me to a brighter sphere ; 
 
 God will not exact in His boundless grace 
 The days that else thou hadst lingered here. 
 
 " No soil of sorrow, no taint of sin, 
 
 From thy sojourn here on thy heart shall rest ; 
 The smiles, that ushered thy young life in, 
 
 Shall follow thee home to yon region blest. 
 
 " No cloud on thy brow shall its shadow fling. 
 Nor the darkness there of the grave forecast. 
 
 Of so unspotted and pure a thing 
 
 The loveliest morning is still the last." 
 
The A ngel and the Infant. 233 
 
 And, slowly unfurling his wings snow-white, 
 The angel ceased, and aloft he sped 
 
 To the blest abodes of eternal light : 
 Ah, poor mother ! Thy child is dead ! 
 
234 
 
 FROM CEHLENSCHLAGER'S 
 SOCRATES. 
 
 "\ ^ 7" HY should the thought of death disturb thee 
 
 so? 
 One of two things it must be, that is certain ; 
 Something or nothing, Cebes. If it but took 
 Our consciousness away, our power to feel, 
 Were it a sleep, wherein the sleeper's brain 
 Is racked not even by the filmiest dream, 
 It were a boon beyond all mortal price. 
 For surely I do think, breathes not the man, 
 Who, weighing such a night of peace with those 
 Long nights and days of sorrow and of pain. 
 This earthly life is doomed to undergo, 
 That would not rather choose this blissful peace. 
 But if death leaves our consciousness untouched. 
 If it be but a change, a going forth, 
 A journey of the soul to happier realms. 
 
From CEhlenschldger's Socrates. 235 
 
 Where we again shall meet all those we love, 
 Think, what delight, what transport it will be. 
 There to abide, and to converse with Gods, 
 With Hesiod, Orpheus, Homer, and with all 
 The mighty, who on earth have dwelt of yore ! 
 
236 
 
 SONG. 
 
 BY HERMANN LINGG. 
 
 O HOULD something whisper to my heart, 
 
 That mine is vowed to thee, 
 Oh, doubt not, lady, that thou art 
 A light and joy to me. 
 
 Yet never do I wish thee mine ; 
 
 I'll worship thee afar 
 In darkness, happy so there shine 
 
 On thee some brighter star. 
 
 Like music murmured in a dream, 
 
 Or like a rose, I love 
 And brood on thee ; — thou art a gleam 
 
 To me of heaven above. 
 
Song. 237 
 
 Be happy in thy thoughts of me, 
 
 For to be cherished there 
 Will round my path a glory be, 
 
 And bless me everywhere. 
 
 Oh yes, my bliss were all complete. 
 
 Were nothing left me more. 
 But this, — a heart to love thee, sweet, 
 
 And silently adore ! 
 
238 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 "T^WAS Maytime, yet a time of cloud, 
 
 By famine sore the land was bowed, 
 And all looked sadly to the morrow. 
 When thou didst close, true mother mine, 
 Those sorrow-wearied eyes of thine 
 In that long sleep that knows no sorrow. 
 
 Unto thy face, so grave and white, 
 The watchers' torches' paly light 
 A glory like a seraph's smile lent ; 
 How beautiful thou wert ! The day 
 How sad, when spring's first blossoms lay 
 Upon thy heart, grown still and silent ! 
 
To my Mother. 239 
 
 Thou cold, still heart, that yearned to nie 
 
 With mother's love so tenderly. 
 
 In grief for me oft wellnigh broken, 
 
 Oh, must I think, thy life is o'er ? 
 
 No look, no smile ! For evermore 
 
 Thy last fond, parting words were spoken ! 
 
 My every sorrow, folly, shame, 
 Thou saw'st afar before it came. 
 Thy loving eyes were cheated never ; 
 'Twas wealth to thee my joy to view, 
 Gentle near thee I ever grew. 
 And this shall be no more for ever ! 
 
 Now thou art gone, the earth appears 
 No more the earth of other years. 
 Its light and life are dead to me, too ; 
 Sleep on, my comfort here I place, 
 That, come what may, a little space. 
 And where thou art, there I shall be too. 
 
240 
 
 THE SAILOR'S WIFE. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 "X^TE gazed on the ship from the beach, ah me ! 
 
 Till her sails swelled in the wind, 
 Till darkness dropped down over the sea. 
 
 And our eyes with tears were blind ; 
 Then home we turned, and we never spoke, 
 We daughters and wives of the sailor-folk. 
 
 A year and better has since gone by, 
 
 And still thou art on the deep, 
 Tossing in danger far off, and I 
 
 A widow am left to weep. 
 At home I sit, and I rock thy child, 
 But thou art rocked by the tempest wild. 
 
The Sailor's Wife. 241 
 
 All the names oft rise before my sight 
 
 Of drowned men old and young, 
 Of whom we two by the fire at night 
 
 Have many a sad lay sung ; 
 Forgotten men, most wild to see. 
 In the dreams of the dark oft come to me. 
 
 They shake their long, long sea-soaked hair. 
 And, like messengers strange and dread, 
 
 A ring of gold unto me they bear. 
 And a greeting from the dead — 
 
 From thee, from thee ! — I wake and weep. 
 
 And never again that night can sleep. 
 
 Thy lips, perhaps, are parched and dry. 
 
 And I can bring no cheer ; 
 Fathoms deep thou perhaps dost lie, 
 
 With never a shroud or bier. 
 Woe's me, that even the hope must cease, 
 One day by thy side to rest in peace ! 
 
242 
 
 THE BLACK DEATH, 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 T AM the plague — Earth, be aghast 
 
 I come to every land ; 
 And I make for myself a brave repast ; 
 My glance is fever, like furnace-blast 
 
 Is the sweep of my sable hand. 
 
 I come from Egypt, many a mile. 
 
 In a mist of the ruddy gloom ; 
 Poison I've sucked on the shores of Nile, 
 From the sweltering eggs of the crocodile. 
 And the breath of the fierce Simoom. 
 
 Up hill, down dale, from shore to shore, 
 On sultry vapours sailing. 
 
The Black Death. 243 
 
 I make a desert my track before, 
 I plant a grave at every door, 
 And scatter cries of wailing. 
 
 The mighty people's death, the great 
 
 Mortality am I. 
 Drought heralds my advancing state, 
 I bring dear bread, and, lingering late. 
 
 Leave War for ray legacy. 
 
 Vain, vain, how far so ever you flee. 
 
 My snorting steed flies wider ; 
 The Swift Black Death men christen me, 
 I distance the swiftest argosy. 
 
 And eke the swiftest rider. 
 
 I'm borne into the merchant's house 
 
 With the merchandise he plies there ; 
 His heart is merry, he takes his 'rouse. 
 When out from his treasure I creep like a mouse, 
 And on his bier he lies there. 
 
 No castle on its rock-peak hung 
 Too high for me to scale it ; 
 
244 Miscellaneous. 
 
 No young blood is for me too young, 
 No sinews for me too stoutly strung, 
 No heart but I assail it. 
 
 On the eye that has felt the glare of mine 
 
 The sunshine no more bursteth ; 
 The man, whose bread I have blessed and wine. 
 For dust alone doth hunger and pine, 
 And to be gone home thirsteth. 
 
 Died in the East the mighty Khan ; 
 
 By India's spice-isles prowling, 
 Died Negro prince and Mussulman ; 
 And at midnight are heard in Ispahan, 
 
 The dogs o'er the dead men howling. 
 
 Byzantium was a city fair. 
 
 And Venice fair outvied it ; 
 Now their men like leaves lie withered there. 
 And he that would gather that leafage rare 
 
 Lies cold and stark beside it. 
 
 To Norway's farthest cliffs I passed. 
 And into a little bay there 
 
The Black Death. 245 
 
 A ship, with her crew all dead, I cast. 
 And wherever the breath of my nostrils passed, 
 Sleep, leaden sleep did weigh there. 
 
 They lay, around the city spread, 
 
 Though days and moons were flying ; 
 
 And there, when years on years have sped, 
 
 Will be found the City of the Dead 
 In desolation lying. 
 
246 
 
 HURRAH, GERMANIA! 
 
 BY FERDINAND FREILIGRATH. • 
 
 [This song is memorable, as expressing with great 
 power what was in the mind and heart of the German 
 people at the outset of the Franco-German War in 
 1870.] 
 
 T T URRAH ! thou lady proud and fair, 
 
 Hurrah ! Germania mine ! 
 What fire is in thine eye as there 
 Thou bendest o'er the Rhine ! 
 How in July's full blaze dost thou 
 Flash forth thy sword, and go, 
 With heart elate and knitted brow, 
 To strike the invader low ! 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
 Hurrah ! Germania ! 
 
 No thought hadst thou, so calm and light. 
 Of war or battle plain. 
 
Hurrah, Ger mania! 247 
 
 But on thy broad fields, waving bright, 
 
 Didst mow the golden grain. 
 With clashing sickles, wreaths of com, 
 
 Thy sheaves didst garner in, 
 AVhen, hark ! across the Rhine War's horn 
 
 Breaks through the merry din ! 
 
 Down sickle then and wreath of wheat 
 
 Amidst the corn were cast, 
 And, starting fiercely to thy feet, 
 
 Thy heart beat loud and fast ; 
 Then with a shout I heard thee call, 
 
 " Good ! since you will, you may ! 
 Up, up, my children, one and all. 
 
 On to the Rhine ! Away ! " 
 
 From port to port the summons flew. 
 
 Rang o'er our German wave, 
 The Oder on her harness drew. 
 
 The Elbe girt on her glaive ; 
 Neckar and Weser swell the tide. 
 
 Main flashes to the sun. 
 Old feuds, old hates are dashed aside. 
 
 All German men are one ! 
 
248 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Swabian and Prussian, hand in hand, 
 
 North, South, one host, one vow ! 
 What is the German's Fatherland ? 
 
 Who asks that question now ? 
 One soul, one arm, one close-knit frame, 
 
 One will are we to-day ; 
 Hurrah, Germania, thou proud dame, 
 
 Oh, glorious time, hurrah ! 
 
 Germania now, let come what may, 
 
 Will stand unshook through all ; 
 This is our country's festal day ; 
 
 Now woe betide thee, Gaul ! 
 Woe worth the hour a robber thrust 
 
 Thy sword into thy hand ! 
 A curse upon him that we must 
 
 Unbare our German brand ! 
 
 For home and hearth, for wife and child, 
 For all loved things that we 
 
 Are bound to keep all undefiled 
 From foreign ruffianry ! 
 
 For German right, for German speech. 
 For German household ways. 
 
Hurrah, Germania! 249 
 
 For German homesteads, all and each, 
 Strike home through battle's blaze ! 
 
 Up, Germans, up, with God ! The die 
 
 Clicks loud, — we wait the throw. 
 Oh, who may think without a sigh. 
 
 What blood is doomed to flow ? 
 Yet, look thou up, with fearless heart ! 
 
 Thou must, thou shalt prevail ! 
 Great, glorious, free as ne'er thou wert. 
 
 All hail, Germania, hail ! 
 Hurrah ! Victoria ! 
 Hurrah ! Germania ! 
 
2SO 
 
 LOVE, LOVE EVER! 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 /^H love, as long as love you can ! 
 
 Oh love, as long as love you may ! 
 The time is coming when you will stand 
 By graves, and weep the hours away. 
 
 Be careful within your heart to nurse 
 Warm love that fears not to be shown, 
 
 As long as one other heart shall beat 
 Warmly in answer to your own ! 
 
 And if one bareth his breast to you, 
 
 Repay the trust with love's kindly power ; 
 
 Make sunny his days as they pass and glad, 
 And cloud not with sorrow one single hour. 
 
Love, Love Ever ! 251 
 
 Ah, cruel words are quickly said, 
 
 So keep close guard upon your tongue. 
 
 " They never were meant to wound ! " you say. 
 But he goes on his way, and his heart is wrung. 
 
 Oh love, as long as love you can ! 
 
 Oh love, as long as love you may ! 
 The time is coming when you will stand 
 
 By graves, and weep the hours away. 
 
 Then you will kneel down beside his grave, 
 And bury your streaming eyes — alas. 
 
 They never will look on his face again ! — 
 Deep in the long damp churchyard grass. 
 
 And you'll cry, " Oh look, look down on me, 
 
 Weeping here by thy grave in vain ! 
 Forgive my words, if they hurt ! Oh God, 
 
 They never were meant to give thee pain ! " 
 
 But he sees and he hears you not, nor comes 
 Again to be clasped to your breast. Ah, no ! 
 
 The lips that kissed you so oft will ne'er 
 Say, " I forgave thee long ago ! " 
 
252 Miscellaneous. 
 
 'Twas so ! Long since he forgave you, but still 
 
 Many and many a hot tear fell 
 For you, and the bitter words you spoke ; 
 
 But hush ! He resteth, — ^with him 'tis well ! 
 
 Oh love, as long as love you can ! 
 
 Oh love, as long as love you may ! 
 The time is coming when you will stand 
 
 By graves, and weep the hours away. 
 
253 
 
 THE LAST STRING. 
 
 BY GUSTAV HARTWIG. 
 
 " (^FF with it, old fellow, before you start ! 
 
 A glass of good wine will cheer your heart. 
 The night is cold, you have far to go. 
 And deep on the track lies the drifted snow ! " 
 
 " Good night ! " Out from the revel-swarm. 
 His trusty fiddle tucked under his arm, 
 Out from the room, hot, steaming, low. 
 Stepped the fiddler, — round him all ice and snow. 
 
 Just as his bow he had stoutly plied. 
 So down the street does he briskly stride. 
 His home is distant some seven miles good. 
 But a shorter cut lies through the wood. 
 
254 Miscellaneotis. 
 
 " Great God, what cold ! It chills me so ! 
 Body and bone ! Through the wood I'll go ! 
 Man/s the time that I at dead 
 Of night that self-same road have sped." 
 
 Lit by the moon, the pine-trees throw 
 Their shadows dark o'er the sheeted snow : 
 All round is hushed as death, save where 
 A falling branch crashes through the air. 
 
 The fiddler, a merry man is he. 
 For he hears in his pocket clink the fee. 
 His fiddle for him has so dearly bought ; 
 And already he is at his home in thought. 
 
 Like countless arms the trees they throw 
 Their branches out, all swathed in snow, 
 Into the night, a ghostly clan. 
 Weird-like and blanched in the moonlight wan. 
 
 " Hark ! What stirs there in the thicket deep ? 
 A hare, belike, I have scared from sleep ? " 
 The fiddler thinks, and on he hies : 
 Lo ! glaring before him two flashing eyes ! 
 
The Last String. 255 
 
 " A dog ! and starving too — that he 
 
 Dares show his teeth that way at me ? 
 
 Be off ! What's this ? One, two, three, — how ! 
 
 Fierce eyes all round ! God help me now ! 
 
 " A pack of wolves, and far and nigh 
 
 No help ! All, all alone am I ! " 
 
 Through the forest his cries of horror ring, 
 
 " Is there no one, no one, that help will bring? " 
 
 His hair stands on end, his eyes they swim, 
 He quakes, he totters in every limb, 
 He is like to fall. From jaws flung wide 
 He sees death threaten on every side. 
 
 A lofty oak's majestic trunk 
 Supports him, else he must have sunk ; 
 And now a tune, a wild mad thing, 
 Through the eerie forest is heard to ring. 
 
 He pulls himself up ; in his trembling hand 
 
 The bow across the strings is spanned. 
 
 And they moan, and they groan, and they wail and 
 
 sing,— 
 " Is there no one, no one, that help will bring ? " 
 
256 Miscellaneous. 
 
 The wolves with eyes half-blinking gaze 
 At the strange, strange man in a blank amaze ; 
 They have hedged their helpless victim in : 
 Huzzah ! Let the merry Csardas ^ begin ! 
 
 What an eldritch din, what a hell-like strain ! 
 He plays, his face writhing with fear and pain, — 
 Fiddling to wolves ! One moment's pause, 
 And he would have been in their ruthless jaws ! 
 
 Never beggar poor drew such bow as he; 
 'Twas now a roistering melody, 
 Then a grating, groaning, agonised thing, 
 Then a piercing note. Crack went a string ! 
 
 A stream as of fire runs through every limb ; 
 He shudders ; still there is that circle grim. 
 One string broken — ^but three remain — 
 " Woe is me ! " A second string snaps in twain ! 
 
 ^ The Csardas is a Hungarian national dance. It is danced 
 at every opportunity, and what adds to its fascination is, that 
 the text of some popular Volkslied is associated with every 
 favourite Csardas-tune. 
 
The Last String. 257 
 
 Like a beast that down to death hunted lies, 
 With frantic bounds, and with hungry eyes, 
 The wolves around the fiddler close. 
 And fainter and fainter the music grows. 
 
 And died with its dying tones away 
 The spell that had kept the wolves at bay ; 
 Round their helpless victim more near they drew ; 
 One stroke ! and a third string snapped in two ! 
 
 " There is but one left ! All's up ! " Like the cry 
 Of a soul in its death-throe agony 
 Is the sound from the one poor string he wrung : 
 His arm shook, dropped, and there nerveless hung. 
 
 With the sounds that away into silence went 
 The howl of the hungry wolves is blent. 
 Over his eyes falls darkness ; and dumb 
 Grow his quivering lips. The end has come ! 
 
 " Great God, in Thy hands my soul I lay ! " 
 On this the poor fellow swooned away. 
 The victim lay senseless on the snow, — 
 A demoniac howl ! a flash ! a blow ! 
 
 R 
 
258 Miscellaneous. 
 
 A shot ! a second ! The hand that drew 
 
 On that bevy of howling wolves was true. 
 
 Laden with death, both charges told, 
 
 And down in their blood two wolves were rolled. 
 
 The rest fly off. Like a spheric-song 
 Rings a sound of voices and bells ! Along 
 A sledge brings the hunters twain, that sped 
 With such true aim the death-dealing lead. 
 
 At the fiddler's door hangs an image fair 
 Of the Blessed Virgin ; God's mother there 
 Is set in a dainty shrine, and you 
 Will see his good fiddle enshrined there too. 
 
259 
 
 THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 ["Watching in the church porch for death-omens on 
 the Eves of St Mark and St John is a practice that in 
 days gone by was much jn use, especially amongst 
 young people. The time observed was from eleven 
 o'clock at night until one in the morning. In the same 
 year it was supposed that the ghosts of all those who 
 were to die the next year would pass into the church.'' 
 — T. F. Thiselton Dyer's 'English Folk -Lore,' p. 
 216.] 
 
 TT USHED as the grave is the village, and now 
 from the belfry tower, 
 Booming along through the night with sullen and 
 heavy sound, 
 The church-clock's strokes proclaim the approach of 
 the midnight hour; 
 They cease, and a hush as of death again settles 
 all around. 
 
26o Miscellaneous. 
 
 On through the silent street goes a man to the old 
 church door, 
 That gleams in the moon's wan rays with a shim- 
 mering ghostly light, 
 And behind him he casts, as he goes, a fearful 
 glance evermore. 
 Then striding swift through the porch he vanishes 
 out of the night. 
 
 Round him he looks to see where he may be hidden 
 secure, 
 Seeming as one who has come to pillage and not 
 to pray, 
 And he crouches down in a corner out of the way 
 and obscure. 
 Where never a beam from the moon to light up 
 the gloom might stray. 
 
 Every Eve of St John, so runneth the legend old, 
 
 Down the long church aisle glideth a ghostly train. 
 And whoso will linger there till the last stroke of 
 twelve has tolled. 
 To him will the future dark be manifest made and 
 plain. 
 
The Eve of St John. 261 
 
 Spectral figures he sees through hazes phantasmal 
 peer, 
 Before him the phantoms pass of those whom 
 already the doom 
 Of death has o'ershadowed, and now, even now, 
 their graves they are near, 
 Whose forms he sees and he knows, as onward 
 they move through the gloom. 
 
 Here on this errand has he come in sore anguish 
 and grief. 
 And if before him shall pass that troop phan- 
 tasmal and dim. 
 Then Heaven, he hopes, will be gracious to him, 
 and his own relief 
 In death — relief, oh, how welcome ! — be thus 
 foretokened to him. 
 
 For death, death only, can lift the curse that has 
 weiglied on his life 
 For years, since the day when heartburnings, and 
 discord, and wranglings loud. 
 
262 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Set hopeless division up 'twixt himself and the once- 
 loved wife, 
 To whom all his life could give had been at the 
 altar vowed. 
 
 Anon the dread midnight hour from the belfry 
 begins to boom, 
 Bending breathlessly forward, he stares, with fear 
 stricken white, 
 To pierce, if so pierce he may, through the veil of 
 his hidden doom, 
 Then backward recoils, for lo ! his wife there full 
 in his sight ! 
 
 She too has waited there, the midnight procession 
 to see. 
 With the self-same pain in her heart, the self- 
 same longing to steal 
 Tidings of what for herself stored up in the future 
 may be. 
 To see with her weary eyes what the Eve of St 
 John might reveal. 
 
The Eve of St John. 263 
 
 Her glance on her husband falls, before her as in 
 a scroll 
 The mystery is unrolled of a future impending 
 and drear ; 
 In terror she sees, although still there was bitterness 
 hard in her soul, 
 The doom of death overhang the man she once 
 held so dear. 
 
 Backward she totters — the features, rigid and pallid 
 and drawn. 
 Of her spouse seem to hover before the eyes of 
 her startled soul, 
 And, as the dark shadows of night disappear in the 
 light of the dawn. 
 So rancour and wrath died away, and gentleness 
 over her stole. 
 
 And dayspring began to arise in the heart of her 
 husband as well. 
 He thinks of the wife of his bosom, so soon in 
 her grave to rest ; 
 
264 Miscellaneous. 
 
 He feels his heart with the throb of quicker pulsa- 
 tions swell, 
 And the fires of a love long quenched are en- 
 kindled anew in his breast. 
 
 Thus once more as of old the ties of affection were 
 twined, 
 Love at their lorn hearthfire a sheltering welcome 
 found, 
 Coming back as the exile comes, who in banishment 
 long has pined. 
 To the home in the land of his sires, that to him 
 is as hallowed ground. 
 
 Brightly the days went by, all sunshine, undimmed 
 by a tear, 
 When the love came to life again, that late had 
 been dead to the core ; 
 The weeks lengthened out into months, the months 
 ran out to a year. 
 And then came the summer, and with it the Eve 
 of St John once more. 
 
The Eve of St John. 265 
 
 Silent is all around, the church glimmers white in 
 the sheen 
 Of the moonbeams, that play around, like an 
 aureole glory fair, 
 A woman and man that may in the arch of the 
 porch be seen, 
 Bending with souls devout low on their knees in 
 prayer. 
 
 "Grant, O God," was their thought, "that we for 
 yet many a day 
 May enjoy and be grateful for all the blessings 
 we owe to Thy grace. 
 Till that shall in time be fulfilled, which to us in 
 such mystical way 
 At midnight when spirits walked was revealed in 
 this holy place ! " 
 
266 
 
 g, FROM PETRARCH.i 
 
 T T ERE be the tearful strains of callow youth, 
 
 The wound bewailing, which the quivered 
 boy 
 Struck deep in one as boyish as himself 
 All that is ours, Time's ever-busy hand 
 Wears grain by grain away, — our very life 
 To Death is ministrant, and while our bark 
 Seems as it rode in some safe anchoring bay, 
 'Tis sweeping down a tide that bears still on. 
 My very self contrasted with myself 
 Shall seem no more the same. The brow is 
 
 strange, 
 The manners strange — • the mind of different 
 
 stamp, 
 The very voice sounds with another tone. 
 
 ^ See Petrarch's Works, vol. iii. p. 76, edit. 158 1. 
 
From Petrarch. 267 
 
 Pitying with ice-cold heart a lover's fires, 
 We blush to think, how we have glowed of yore. 
 The tranquil soul abhors its old unrest, 
 And, musing o'er its lays of former years, 
 Deems them the follies of another's Ijrre. 
 
268 
 
 SONNETS BY ARIOSTO. 
 
 'T~*HE net was made of yonder golden twine, 
 
 Which in its folds my fancy's pinions took ; 
 Yon eyebrow was the bow, the shaft yon look. 
 
 And the fell archer yonder eyes divine. 
 
 Oh, I am struck, imprisoned closely round, 
 
 My heart sinks down, death-stricken to the core, — 
 Strong are my gyves, yet still do I adore 
 
 Both that which struck me, and which took me 
 bound. 
 
 For the sweet cause that makes me languid so 
 Even unto death, if death such pains might bring, 
 I triumph in my pains, and long to die. 
 
 That she, unweeting of the joys that flow 
 To me from all this heavenly sorrowing,^ 
 May deign me one kind glance, one single sigh. 
 
 ' " This sorrow's heavenly ! It strikes 
 Where it doth love." 
 
 — " Othello,'' act v., sc. 2. 
 
Sonnets by Ariosto. 269 
 
 What man is he shall worthily declare 
 Thy charms, angelic and divine that be, 
 Since that all words seem weak and poor to 
 me, 
 To tell the beauty of thy tresses fair. 
 The lofty phrase, the sweet and gentle air. 
 
 Which in the bards of Greece and Rome we 
 
 treasure. 
 Would not suffice to reach unto the measure 
 Of all their praise, — these waves of golden 
 
 hair; 
 Their glittering sheen, as down thy throat they 
 stray 
 In long smooth threads of gold luxuriantly, 
 Might give the theme for an unending lay. 
 Oh, had I, like the Ascrean, ate the bay, 
 I'd sing of them so long, that swan-like I 
 Should die, nor die as now without a word away. 
 
 When first those golden tresses met my view, 
 Those sweetest eyes, the roses fragrant-warm 
 Of thy red lips, and every other charm. 
 
 That me hath made idolatrous of you, 
 
270 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Lady, oh then, methought, the loveliness 
 
 Thou took'st from heaven was such, that never 
 
 more 
 Might rarer beauty come these eyes before. 
 
 For surely none could more supremely bless. 
 
 But, since, thy mind hath poured on mine its light 
 Serene and clear, and in my breast it well 
 Might hold o'er all charms else triumphant place. 
 
 Which is most dear, I may not judge aright : 
 But this I know, that never yet did dwell 
 A soul so fair in form of so much grace. 
 
2/1 
 
 TO PYRRHA. 
 
 ^^ Quis 7nulta gracilis te puerin rosa," Sec. — Horace, Odes, I. 5. 
 
 T) EDEWED with odorous balms, what pretty boy, 
 On heaps of roses in some pleasant grot, 
 Pyrrha, with thee doth hotly toy ? 
 For whom dost backward knot 
 
 Thy yellow hair, bewitching simple ? Oh, 
 How will he mourn changed gods and broken troth, 
 And stare amazed, when bleak winds blow, 
 And roughened seas are wroth, 
 
 Who now, fond fool, enjoys thee, deems thee gold. 
 Who, never having known a treacherous breeze, 
 Hopes thee still his, all his to hold. 
 Still loving ! Woe for these, 
 
272 Miscellaneous. 
 
 On whom thy wiles are newly flung ! 
 A votive tablet in his temple shows, 
 I've to the sea's great god uphung 
 My brine-bedabbled clothes. 
 
273 
 
 THE SAME, MODERNISED. 
 
 TO CORALIE. 
 
 "X^ rnO may the favoured youngster be, 
 
 Fair Coralie, 
 Who in thy velvet-cushioned bower 
 
 Doth now devour 
 With hungry eyes those charms of thine, 
 
 That once were mine ? 
 For whom, with all-consummate grace, 
 
 Back from thy face 
 Dost thou thine amber tresses plait, 
 
 Trimly sedate ? 
 How oft, when thou hast played him out, 
 
 Will he, poor lout. 
 Bewail his cruel destiny, and rail 
 
 At woman frail, 
 s 
 
274 Miscellaneous. 
 
 And open wide his eyes, to hear 
 
 Rough gibe and jeer 
 From lips that erst were wreathed with smiles, 
 
 And all sweet wiles, 
 Who now, when in thine arms he lies, 
 
 Sees in thine eyes 
 A true soul raying out such golden gleams 
 
 As bless our dreams ; 
 Who hopes to find thee always fi:ee and gay. 
 
 Call when he may. 
 And always with a passion in thy kiss 
 
 To crown his bliss ! 
 Oh, how I pity those who know thee not 
 
 Till they are caught, 
 And, in thy toils Circean, all too late 
 
 Must dree their fate ! 
 I, lucky dog, some time ago broke loose. 
 
 Now, play the deuce 
 With whom thou mayest, I, secure in port. 
 
 To see thee sport 
 With other gulls, smile, as along they drift 
 
 To ruin swift. 
 
275 
 
 THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION.i 
 
 IV /T Y spirit is perplexed sore with sentiments 
 
 funereal, 
 And I must give its musings vent, so bitter and so 
 
 dreary all ; 
 Alas, alas ! I doubt I'm made of very light material. 
 And like the leaf that every wind blows off on dance 
 
 aerial. 
 
 For though 'tis clear a man of sense, a man that's 
 
 cute and knowing. 
 Would fix his dwelling on a rock that there was no 
 
 o'erthrowing, 
 
 ^ For the original of this poem see the Camden Society's 
 volume of Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter de 
 Mapes, p. 71. 
 
2/6 Miscellaneous. 
 
 I'm such an ass, that like a stream I'm ever onwards 
 
 flowing, 
 And over me fresh skies are bent and fresh winds 
 
 ever blowing. 
 
 I'm like a ship without a guide, I'm sadly deaf when 
 mass calls, 
 
 I keep no Lenten holidays, no macerating Pas- 
 cals; 
 
 No bolts nor bars can hold me back, whene'er a 
 chum or glass calls. 
 
 And sooth they are, these chums of mine, a precious 
 set of rascals. 
 
 Like most young men, steeped to the lips in vices 
 
 foul and shameless, 
 I tread the broad way that leads down to a place 
 
 that shall be nameless ; 
 And eager more for pleasure, than to be in morals 
 
 blameless, 
 I cultivate my outward man, and mind my inward's 
 
 claim less. 
 
The Jovial Priesis Confession. 277 
 
 A love affair appears to me of grave and weighty 
 
 moment, 
 A labyrinth of pleasant fears, and cheerfully I roam 
 
 in't; 
 The toil that Venus doth enjoin is pleasant toil, and 
 
 so meant 
 For men of nous alone ; your fools were never yet 
 
 at home in't ; 
 
 Oh, saintly father, pardon me, forgive my agitation, 
 
 I faint, I die, I'm going off in pleasant trepida- 
 tion ! 
 
 The beauty of these girls, it tears my heart to lacer- 
 ation, 
 
 I'm kissing the whole lot of them, the dears, in con- 
 templation ! 
 
 'Tis no such very easy thing to keep one's nature's 
 
 down, sir. 
 And not to feel a little queer in looking on a gown, 
 
 sir. 
 Especially when in it is a maid of nutty brown, sir ; 
 Young flesh and blood must needs break out, though 
 
 saints may fret and frown, sir. 
 
2/8 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Set a man within a fire, will the flames not singe 
 
 him? 
 Who can live in this vile world, nor let its vileness 
 
 tinge him, 
 When Venus plants on every side her traps and 
 
 snares to twinge him, 
 And rosy lips and sparkling eyes and sunny locks 
 
 unhinge him ? 
 
 The second charge against me is, that I am given to 
 
 dicing, 
 But most unfortunate am I that very pleasant vice in ; 
 And, when cleaned out, I find my wits so very sharp 
 
 and slicing, 
 That floods of song roll in on me in measure most 
 
 enticing. 
 
 The tavern's pleasures are the next that do my 
 
 spirit lumber. 
 They always have stuck fast to it and always will 
 
 encumber. 
 Until I see the cherubim approach in goodly 
 
 number. 
 To sing my poor departing soul into eternal slumber. 
 
The Jovial Priests Confession. 279 
 
 In a tavern I shall die, unless my purpose misses, 
 With old wine upon my lips to cheer me with its 
 
 kisses ; 
 And, when the angels come to take my soul away to 
 
 blisses. 
 They'll say, "The Lord be merciful to a toper such 
 
 as this is ! " 
 
 Wine in brimming bumpers bears the spirit's richest 
 
 ores up. 
 And, on nectar-moistened wings to the stars it soars 
 
 up; 
 Greatly I prefer the can, mine host against me scores 
 
 up, 
 To the cup our cellarer with cold water pours up. 
 
 There be some small poets who, shunning public 
 
 places, 
 Woo in shady solitudes the Muse's pensive graces ; 
 There they toil, and sweat, and moil, and make 
 
 most dire grimaces ; 
 Yet, after all, what they produce in very piteous 
 
28o Miscellaneous. 
 
 There be bards that put themselves on thinnest 
 
 water gruel, 
 Fly the world's loud bickerings, its strife, and jarr- 
 
 ings cruel ; 
 Toil for immortality, and, as they grasp the 
 
 jewel. 
 Die off from inanition, like your fire from lack of 
 
 fuel. 
 
 With one's own peculiar whims Nature still doth 
 
 mould one ; 
 When my genius is starved, 'tis a very cold one : 
 Any boy might beat me then, nor need be a bold 
 
 one, — 
 Oh, I hate your fasting-days, as I do the Old 
 
 One! 
 
 Every man by nature hath his own gifts and 
 
 mission ; 
 I'm one of those that need good wine to aid my 
 
 composition. 
 Then my genius doth attain unto its full fruition, 
 And my language overflows, even unto repletion. 
 
The Jovial Priest's Confession. 281 
 
 As my liquor floweth good, goodly verses flow so, 
 But unless I eat as well they will never go so. 
 With a bottle in my belt, then my measures glow 
 
 so. 
 That Ovidius Naso's are, compared with them, but 
 
 so so. 
 
 Never is there given to me poetic inspiration, 
 
 Till I've ate and drunk my fill, even to satura- 
 tion ! 
 
 Bacchus then within my brain hath the domina- 
 tion. 
 
 And Phoebus rusheth into me, to general admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Lo ! I have told how ill I've lived, how wickedly 
 and vainly ; 
 
 For had I not, your servants would, and that's my 
 reason mainly. 
 
 They, sneaking rogues, will never speak their evil 
 thoughts out plainly. 
 
 Nor e'er confess the sins they love and revel in pro- 
 fanely. 
 
282 Miscellaneous. 
 
 But now I meekly stand before my blessed lord the 
 
 bishop, 
 And all my sins and naughtiness canonically dish 
 
 up: 
 Let him cast a stone at me who ne'er had wicked 
 
 wish up- 
 on his heart, nor now can find a single fault to fish 
 
 up. 
 
 I have mentioned every sin that I know about me, 
 And the venom, cherished long, cast away from out 
 
 me. 
 The ancient Adam I abjure : infidels may flout me. 
 Man sees the face but Jove the heart, what matter 
 
 though they doubt me ? 
 
 Vice I hate : the virtues all, how pleasant surely they 
 
 be! 
 My inward man regenerate, this shall a glorious day 
 
 be. 
 On the tender milk of grace I'm fed like new-born 
 
 baby, 
 That my heart of vanity the seat no longer may 
 
 be. 
 
The Jovial Priests Confession. 283 
 
 Lord Bishop, pray, be merciful to me, and from the 
 
 treasure 
 Of thy abundant goodness yield thy suppliant good 
 
 measure ; 
 Forgive my sins, and I'll perform, at my very 
 
 earliest leisure, 
 Whatever penance you enjoin, with a very great 
 
 deal of pleasure. 
 
284 
 
 THE MONK'S DREAM. 
 
 [Among the poems preserved in the Auchinleck MS. 
 in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, is one called 
 " The Desputisoun bituen the Bodi and the Soule," 
 supposed to have been written about the commence- 
 ment of the fourteenths century. The following poem 
 is founded upon this singular and very powerful con- 
 ception of the Ancient Muse. The subject was a 
 favourite one among the monkish writers ; and poems, 
 more or less resembling that in question, exist both in 
 Latin and in the vernacular language of various parts 
 of Europe. See the poem " Dialogus inter Corpus et 
 Animam," printed in ' The Latin Poems commonly 
 attributed to Walter de Mapes,' published by the 
 Camden Society, 1841, p. 95 ; and Note E in the same 
 volume, pp. 34 et seq.^ 
 
 " Si secundum carnem vixeritis, moriemini : si autem spiritu facta carnis 
 mortificaveritis vivetis." — Beati Pauli E^ist. ad Ro>nanos. 
 
 /~\NCE as I lay upon a winter night, 
 
 And chid the laggard coming of the day, 
 Before my eyes there came a dismal sight. 
 That settled there, and would not pass away : 
 
The Monk's Dream. 285 
 
 All on a bier a clay-cold Body lay ; 
 A Knight's it was, who, in the o'erblown pride 
 
 Of youth and lustihed, not cared to pay 
 God's service, but his gracious bests defied ; 
 And now the parting Ghost stood by the Body's 
 side. 
 
 But, ere it parted on its flight, it turned 
 
 Back to the Body, as 'twere loath to leave 
 The home wherein it whilom had sojourned. 
 
 But to its haunt familiar fain would cleave ; 
 
 And, looking sadly on it, seemed to grieve, 
 And thus it said — " Alas, and well-a-wo ! 
 
 What could thee now of all thy sense bereave, 
 Thou fickle flesh — why liest thou rotting so. 
 That erst so high of heart and bearing wont to go ? 
 
 " Thou, that wert ever wont on prancing steed 
 To ride abroad, by country or by town ; 
 
 Thou, that wert known for many a shining deed 
 Of high emprise, a knight of fair renown : 
 How are thy swelling honours stricken down. 
 
 Thy heart of lion-daring lowly bowed ! 
 
 Where now is thy imperious voice, thy frown 
 
286 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Q)i withering hate ? Thou, that wert once so proud, 
 What dost thou lying here, wrapt in a vulgar shroud ? 
 
 "Where is thy arras stiffening with gold. 
 
 Thy couches all with gorgeous hangings strewed, 
 Thy ambling jennets, and thy destrier bold. 
 
 Thy hawks and hounds, that came to thee for 
 food? 
 
 Where now the troops of friends that round thee 
 stood ? 
 Where thy swollen treasure-heaps, the jewels worn 
 
 About the proud brows of thine altitude ? 
 Ah ! thou, whose banner once, in field upborne, 
 Shook terror, now liest low, of all thy lustre shorn ! 
 
 " Where are thy cooks, whose curious skill did whet 
 
 Thy glutton lust, made thy lewd flesh to swell, 
 That now with worms in rottenness must fret. 
 
 While I must bide the bitter pangs of hell ? 
 
 Thy towers that look so fair o'er wood and dell. 
 Thy chambers with sweet flowers all garlanded, 
 
 Thy vestments rare of pall and purple — tell. 
 What shall they all thy wretched corse bestead, 
 That in the dull dark grave to-morrow shall be laid ? 
 
The Monk's Dream. 287 
 
 " Where be thy gleemen, that did crown thy cheer 
 With minstrel song and merry jargoning 
 
 Of viol, tabor, and the trumpet clear, 
 
 Whilst to them aye rich largess thou wouldst fling 
 Of robes or the red gold, and bid them sing 
 
 Thy praises wide by cottage, bower, or hall ? 
 Thou, who brought'st ever wail and sorrowing 
 
 On poor man's hearths, that cursed thy tyrant thrall, 
 
 Who is there at this hour to sorrow o'er thy fall ? 
 
 " The morsel won by the o'ertoilfed brow 
 Of poverty thou took'st to feed the state 
 
 Of revellers, that fattened were enow. 
 The rich were ever welcome at thy gate. 
 But blows and spurns did still the poor await. 
 
 Wretch, who now thanks or blesses thee ? Ere mom 
 From the high palace where thou ruledst late, 
 
 From wealth, and rank, and kin, thou shalt be borne, 
 
 To make thy bed with worms, in loathsome pit for- 
 lorn. 
 
 " Thou, for whose wild ambition's sateless grasp 
 The world's dominion seemfed scarce too wide, 
 A few poor feet of earth shall soon enclasp 
 
288 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Thy wretched limbs, and to thee nought beside 
 Of all thou'st won so dearly shall abide. 
 There others now shall play the ruler's part. 
 
 All's lost to thee, that erewhile was thy pride ; 
 Gone is all vaunting joyaunce from thy heart : 
 Oh ! I could weep to see how fallen and poor thou art ! 
 
 "A joyful day to thy false heir is this, 
 
 This day to us so woful-sad and drear ; 
 He would not yield one rood of thine, I wis, 
 
 To bring us out of bale to blissful cheer. 
 
 No more shall weep for thee thy wedded fere, — 
 Her eye courts a new mate ; nor may she sleep 
 
 This night for thinking him her side anear. 
 Soon shall that new lord to her bosom creep. 
 To revel there, when thou in clay art buried deep. 
 
 " Now may thy neighbours live secure from ill. 
 
 And all the wrongs thy vengeful malice wrought : 
 Hunted were those that stooped not to thy will. 
 
 Till they to meagre penury were brought. 
 
 The thousand curses on thy head besought 
 By day and night shall cling thee now ! " With this 
 
 Down fell the Soul, and cried, as sore distraught. 
 
The Monk's Dream. 289 
 
 " Woe's me ! that I, who ne'er did aught amiss, 
 Should be for thy foul deeds for aye thrust out from 
 bliss!" 
 
 When thus the Soul had spoke with rueful cheer, 
 The Body, ghastly thing ! lift up anon 
 
 Its head, there as it lay upon the bier, 
 
 And heaving, as 'twere sick, a piteous groan, 
 "Art thou my ancient mate, that mak'st this 
 moan ? " 
 
 It cried. " Oh, why upbraid me thus, my Soul, 
 With this my sore mishap ? Am I alone. 
 
 Of all men, doomed to dree death's bitter dole ? 
 
 No ! e'en the haughtiest brows must bend to its 
 control. 
 
 " Full well I know that I must rot, for thus 
 
 Did Alexander and great Caesar fare, 
 Ne was there left of wights so glorious 
 
 One jot to tell of that which once they were. 
 
 The very mother, too, which did them bear, 
 Worms fed upon her throat so marble white ; 
 
 So shall they feed on mine, I know, for ne'er, 
 
 T 
 
290 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Where once the biting shaft of death did smite, 
 Came cheer or pleasaunce more to heart of mortal 
 wight. 
 
 " My youth was hot within me, and I sped 
 
 With mirth and revelry the flying hours, 
 Nor deemed life's summer-time would e'er have fled. 
 
 And torn me from my halls and pleasant bowers. 
 
 Woods, waters, lands I bought, and stately towers. 
 And lived as life were all a holiday, 
 
 When death, that lays in dust the bravest powers, 
 Stole on my joys, and hurried me away 
 From all my fair domains, which others now shall 
 sway. 
 
 " Soul, chide me not, that thou art brought to shame. 
 And that in torments drear we both must bide ! 
 
 Thou, and thou only, art for this to blame : 
 Wisdom and wit did God to thee confide, 
 And set thee up my keeper and my guide ; 
 
 I was no more but bond-slave to thy will. 
 Working its bidding morn and eventide ; 
 
 In all I did thou wert my tutor still. 
 
 Then blame thyself alone that thou art brought to ill." 
 
The Monk's Dream. 291 
 
 " Peace, Body ! " cried the Soul ; " who hath thee 
 taught 
 To heap on me reproaches most unfit ? 
 What ! think'st thou, wretch, though thou art come 
 to naught, 
 And thy foul flesh must rot in noisome pit, 
 That therefore thou so lightly shalt go quit 
 Of thy misdeeds ? No ! Though aneath men's feet 
 
 Thy dust be trod, and wild winds scatter it. 
 Yet we again, as once we were, shall meet 
 To abide our woful doom, before God's judgment- 
 seat. 
 
 " For I was given thee, but to do thy hest : 
 
 Thou shook'st my counsel from thee with disdain. 
 
 Spurning the curb that would have tamed thy 
 crest, 
 And in thy wicked track dashed on amain 
 To shame and sorrow. When I've been full fain 
 
 To bid thee think of thy Soul's needs, at mass, 
 Matin, or even-song — ' Let fools go sain 
 
 Their souls, so go not I ! ' thine answer was, 
 
 And forth with shout to field or greenwood thou 
 wouldst pass. 
 
292 Miscellaneous. 
 
 "The winding horn, that rang the struck stag's 
 knell, 
 More pleased thine ear than chaunt of holy- 
 men; 
 More dear the dance, and music's gladsome swell. 
 And smiles to bright eyes that smiled back again. 
 Well dost thou know, my rede thou reck'dst not 
 when 
 I told thee, 'twould not evermore be so : 
 I gave up all to do thee pleasure then. 
 Yet now thou'dst purchase thine own ease, although 
 I should be doomed to pine in everlasting woe. 
 
 " No more or beast or bird shall fly thy mark. 
 
 No more thy horn through merry greenwood 
 ring: 
 Thy heart is cleft in twain, thine eyes are dark, 
 
 And thou liest there, mute, moveless, festering. 
 
 What lady bright, of those that used to cling 
 To thee, would lay her by thy side to-night. 
 
 Or press her sweet lips to so foul a thing? 
 Go out into the street, and in affright 
 Thy friends will fly from thee, thou'rt so abhorred a 
 sight." 
 
The Monk's Dream. 293 
 
 " Soul ! Soul ! thou wrong'st me," cried the Body, 
 "so 
 
 To charge thy fall from heaven's delights on me ! 
 Whate'er I did or said, for weal or woe, 
 
 Thou know'st full well was ever seen by thee. 
 
 Where'er I went, I bore thee with me ; we 
 Were loving co-mates then, blythe was my cheer, 
 
 I lacked for nought, and time went merrily. 
 
 woful time ! since thou hast left me here, 
 A dull unmoving clod, upon my joyless bier." 
 
 " 'Tis true, that thou didst bear me," said the Soul, 
 " With thee at all timeSj as thou wert my steed. 
 
 So was I helpless bound in thy control, — 
 I could not else but stoop to thee, as need 
 Must he whose fate is to his hand decreed. 
 
 1 loved thee ! We had grown from infancy 
 Together, and I durst not cross thy rede, 
 
 Afeared of losing thee, for where by me 
 Might a new home be found, if once thrown off by 
 thee? 
 
 " I saw thee fair and goodly to the view. 
 And on thee all my love I cast. Methought 
 
294 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Thou couldst not err ; and so thy passions grew 
 Headstrong and fierce, nor would not e'er be 
 
 taught. 
 It had been vain, that with thee I had fought. 
 
 Greed, envy, hatred, pride, that did defy 
 
 E'en God, possessed thy heart ; thou didst besot 
 
 Thyself in lust and gluttony : and I 
 
 Must fast in fires for this. Well may I wail and cry ! 
 
 " Oft were we threatened with the coming doom. 
 Yet little heed took'st thou of that, when thou 
 
 Saw'st dead men laid to moulder in the tomb. 
 The world and its temptations held thee now, 
 And to thy lusts I servilely must bow. 
 
 Thou say'st I made thee bond-slave to my will, — 
 Thee, the untamed, the imperious ! Well I trow, 
 
 Of all thy wasteful crimes the thought was still 
 
 Thine own. Betide what may, I ne'er did aught of ill. 
 
 " Oh ! hadst thou, Jesu, on me timely thrown 
 The griping fangs of hunger, frost, and cold. 
 
 Purged me, and brought my vaulting spirit down ! 
 But what I learned when young I did when old, 
 Chained to a will impure and overbold. 
 
The MonHs Dream. 295 
 
 Thou knew'st me prone to sin, as men are all, 
 
 And shouldst my erring wishes have controlled — 
 Have bound me fast, nor left me to their thrall ; 
 But when blind lead the blind, both in the ditch 
 must fall." 
 
 Then 'gan the Soul to weep, and cried, "Alas ! 
 
 Alas ! that ever, Body, I did see 
 Thee, who hast brought me to this woful pass. 
 
 That wrought in love thy pleasure cheerfully. 
 
 But thou wert ever a false churl to me : 
 When I bade shrive thee, and in dust and tears 
 
 Turn from thy sins, the foul Fiend whispered 
 thee, 
 * So young, to quit thy joys for gloom and fears ! 
 Be merry, take thine ease — thou'rt sure of many 
 years.' 
 
 " And when I bade thee with the dawn arise. 
 
 And care for thy Soul's health, then thou wouldst 
 say. 
 
 Leave me to dream, with half-unclosfed eyes, 
 Of joys to be upon the morrow-day. 
 And when I bade thee fling thy pride away. 
 
296 Miscellaneous. 
 
 ' Bear,' said the Fiend, ' a fierce and haughty 
 mien. 
 Robe thee in purple and all rich array, 
 Not, beggar-like, in russet gaberdine. 
 And on fair-harnessed steed of fire abroad be seen.' 
 
 " Oh ! had I been a beast, that ranged at will. 
 Ate, drank, and utterly was slain at last. 
 
 Then had I never known or good or ill. 
 Or for the sins which thou, thou only, hast 
 Wrought in thy body, into hell been cast. 
 
 And though all men beneath the moon should try 
 To ease the pains that on us shall be passed. 
 
 Nor power nor wile our least release shall buy ; — 
 
 Hell's hounds will soon be here, nor may I from 
 them fly." 
 
 And when it saw the Soul thus wail its doom. 
 
 The Body cried, " Oh that my heart had burst. 
 When I was taken from my mother's womb, 
 
 And I been cast to snakes in pit accursed ! 
 
 Then had I ne'er in worldly sins been nursed. 
 Nor now been borne away to torments dire. 
 
 Is there no saint, to call on Him who erst 
 
The Monk's Dream. 297 
 
 Did for our sakes on bloody cross expire, 
 To free us by His grace from hell's consuming 
 fire?" 
 
 " Nay, Body, nay, to pray is now too late, 
 
 Thy tongue is mute, reft utterly of speech ; 
 And even now the wain is at the gate. 
 
 Our pains are past remede of mortal leech ; 
 
 That woful pit of doom we both must reach. 
 Oh ! hadst thou, whilst life yet remained, but lent 
 
 Thine ear to Heaven, and turned thee to beseech 
 Kind Jesu's grace, and so the Fiend yshent. 
 Though thou wart dyed in guilt, he would us help 
 have sent. 
 
 " But though all living men were priests to sing 
 
 Masses for thee, and wives and widows all 
 Their hands for thee in agony should wring, 
 
 They could not our lost happiness recall. 
 
 But I must leave thee in thy dusky pall : 
 I hear the hell-hounds bark, and through the gloom 
 
 Come countless fiends, prepared on me to fall, 
 And bear me off to hell. But thou shalt come 
 To speak again with me upon the day of doom." 
 
298 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Scarce had it spoken, and in- wild dismay 
 
 Turned as 'twould flee, but knew not where 
 to go, 
 When on it sprang a thousand fiends, and they 
 Grasped it with hooks and tugged it to and fro. 
 O Heaven ! their eyes shot out a fiery glow. 
 Rough were their limbs, plague-spotted, and long- 
 nailed 
 Their talons were ; and, till it howled with woe, 
 Their quivering prey they limb by limb assailed. 
 " Oh mercy, God ! " it cried, but nought its cry 
 availed. 
 
 Some thrust its jaws apart, and cried, "Drink, 
 drink ! " 
 
 While molten lead was poured adown its throat. 
 Then came there one, the master-fiend, I think. 
 
 And with a burning spear its heart he smote. 
 
 Then through sides, back, and breast, they plunged 
 red-hot 
 Faulchions of steel, till all their points did meet 
 
 In the heart's core ; and they did cry, and gloat 
 Upon its pangs — " This heart, that once did beat 
 So hot with pride, ho ! feels it now another heat ? " 
 
The Monk's Dream. 299 
 
 " Oh, thou wert fain in robes of costly woof 
 To vaunt thyself," they said, and straightway flung 
 
 A shirt of mail upon it, massy proof, 
 
 And all aglow, with clasps that firmly clung 
 
 To back and breast. Then forth a charger sprung. 
 
 Breathing out flames from throat and nostrils wide. 
 And loud and fearfully its neighings rung. 
 
 Its back a saddle bore, for him to ride. 
 
 With spikes of burning steel stuck o'er on every side. 
 
 Into it he was flung, the fiendish rout 
 
 Pursuing close behind with blow and yell ; 
 As from a blazing brand the sparks flew out, 
 
 Whilst on him blow on blow redoubling fell. 
 
 Then they let slip the baying hounds of hell ; 
 On, on they hunted him, nor did not slack, 
 
 And, as they flew, they tore him flesh and fell. 
 Behind them ran a long blood-stainbd track, 
 Till to hell's throat they came, grim, sulphurous, and 
 black. 
 
 The earth did spht, and there came roaring out 
 Fierce sulphurous flames in many a whirling 
 wreath 
 
300 Miscellaneous. 
 
 That blasted all the air for miles about. 
 
 Oh ! woe is them, that toss in fires beneath ! 
 
 And when the Soul saw the wild flashes seethe, 
 " O Jesu Lord ! " it cried, " look from on high. 
 
 And mercy on Thy wretched cireature breathe ; 
 Thine own hand's work, like other men, am I, 
 Whom thou hast ta'en to bliss, and set Thyself anigh. 
 
 " Thou God, that knewest all things from the first. 
 Why mad'st Thou me for wrath, and to be torn 
 
 By bloody fiends, a creature all accursed ? 
 Well may I wail that ever I was born, 
 For I am here unfriended and forlorn. 
 
 Left without hope in sore distressful case ! " 
 
 Then cried the fiends, and laughed loud laughs of 
 scorn, 
 
 " It boots not thee to call on Jesu's grace. 
 
 Thou art for ever shut out from before His face. 
 
 " For thou our servant wert in times of yore, 
 And of thy labour thou shalt reap the fruit, 
 
 As others do that love our master's lore ! " 
 Ended was now the demons' mad pursuit. 
 And catching up their victim head and foot 
 
The Monk's Dream. 301 
 
 They hurled him headlong down that murky pit, 
 
 Where never sun its blessed rays can shoot. 
 And downwards straight they all sank after it ; 
 The earth closed up again, as though it ne'er had 
 split. 
 
 And now drew on apace the welcome day — 
 Cold drops of sweat stood on each several hair, 
 
 And nigh distraught with agony I lay. 
 Then did I call on Jesu blest in prayer, 
 And thanked His grace that our afflictions bare. 
 
 And saved me from the fiend and fires of bale. 
 Now sinners quit your sins, and shrive you ere 
 
 Too late, and your past guilt with tears bewail ! 
 
 No sin so great, but Christ's dear love shall more 
 prevail. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. 
 
BY SIR THEODORE MARTIN, K.C.B. 
 
 THE WORKS OP HORACE. Teanslated into 
 Enolish Verse. With a Life and Notes. New Edition, 
 Two "Volumes, post 8vo, 21s. 
 
 " No version of Horace has ever appeared in England more com- 
 plete in itself, or more likely to he popular, than the one which Sir 
 Theodore Martin has now given to the public." — Athenceum. 
 
 "Of the translation itself we can speak in terms of almost un- 
 qualified praise. Whether it be looked at from the point of view of 
 
 the scholar or of the English reader, it is alike excellent Sir 
 
 Theodore Martin's chief characteristic as a translator is consummate 
 ease. One might read page after page without ever suspecting that 
 the work was a translation ; and yet, on comparing it with the 
 Latin, it will be found that almost every shade of meaning is 
 expressed or suggested with a fidelity which Conington himself 
 has scarcely equalled." — Satwrday Review. 
 
 GOETHE'S EAUST. Translated into English 
 Verse. 
 
 PART 1.— Second Edition, crown 8vo, 6s. Ninth Edition, 
 fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 PAET II.— Second Edition, fcap. 8vo, 6s. 
 
 "The best translation of 'Faust' in verse we have yet had in 
 England. " — Spectator. 
 
 "The translation is readable, and rich in literary merit, from 
 beginning to end ; and of this poem, if of any poem ever written, a 
 good translation justifies itself. It is the richest repository of 
 Goethe's deepest thoughts. All thanks to the veteran translator 
 who brings us nearer to the treasure." — Academy. 
 
POEMS AND BALLADS OF HEINEIOH HEINE. 
 
 Done into English Verse. Second Edition. Printed on papier 
 
 vergl, crown 8vo, 8s. 
 "Sir Tlieodore Martin, the accomplished translator of Goethe, 
 has, to use his own expression, ' done ' into English verse these 
 beautifal ballads, with that fluent skill and grace of diction which 
 always distinguishes his work, and places him among the very first 
 translators we possess." — Morning Post. 
 
 " Most of the pieces are short ; many full of that sparkling grace, 
 vivacity, irony, and pathos for which Heine is remarkable ; and 
 few indeed unstamped by that keen peculiarity of style and thought 
 
 which is his special characteristic From first to last the book 
 
 is the work of a master, and shows Heine's pathos, passion, and 
 simplicity at their very best." — Standard. 
 
 CATULLUS. With Life and Notes. Second Edi- 
 tion, post 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 " The author, in preparing the' present edition, has evidently 
 gone over Catullus line by line, for every page exhibits some altera- 
 tion for the better, some more refined touch, some more musical 
 arrangement, some happier epithet or fresher idiom." — Edinburgh 
 Cowrant. 
 
 THE VITA NUOVA OF DANTE. With an In- 
 TKODUOTION AND NOTES. Second Edition, crown 8vo, 5s. 
 
 ALADDIN : A Dramatic Poem. By Adam Oehlen- 
 
 SOHLAEQEE. Fcap. 8vo, 5s. 
 
 COEEEQGIO : A Tragsedt. By Oehlenschlaeger. 
 With Notes. Pcap. 8vo, 3s. 
 
 KING RENE'S DAUGHTER : A Danish Lyrical 
 Dkama. By HENRIK HEETZ. Second Edition, fcap., 2s. 6d. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, Edxububoh and London. 
 

 ■i , i ,|ir i ) i l i|iliii | ii j i (. 
 
 ^W' 
 
 myMf ' f 
 
 
 m 1 
 
 '■ a-sjis* 
 
 K»T>, 
 
 ria