They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he "With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and no more, Till thou bend to the cross, and the virgin adore." The cloud-shrouded arm gives the weapon; and, see! The recreant receives the charmed gift on his knee: The thunders grow distant, and faint gleam the As, borne on his whirlwind, the phantom retires. And the red-cross waxed faint, and the crescent came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. With Salem's king Baldwin, against him came on. And horsemen and horses count Albert o'erthrew, unto. Against the charmed blade which count Albert did wield, The fence had been vain of the king's red-cross shield; But page thrust him forward the monarch be- And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more: Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. As back from the stripling the broken casque rolled, You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. Short time had count Albert in horror to stare On those death-swimming eye-balls, and blood clotted hair; For down came the templars, like Cedron in flood, And who is yon page lying cold at his knee? FREDERICK AND ALICE. THIS tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment introduced in Goethe's Claudina von Villa Bella, where it is sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the family, while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit it may possess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an extremely rude state; and who, after some material improvements, published it in his Tales of Wonder. FREDERICK leaves the land of France, Homeward hastes his steps to measure, Keen to prove his untried blade, Över mountain, moor, and glade. Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. As the village bell struck four. Faithless Frederick onward rides; Told the fourth, the fated hour? Struck with strange mysterious fears. From himself in vain he flies; Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour! Where his head shall Frederick hide? By the lightning's flash descried. To the portal, dank and low, Fast his steed the wanderer bound; Down a ruined staircase slow, Next his darkling way he wound. Long drear vaults before him lie! Glimmering lights are seen to glide! "Blessed Mary, hear my cry! Deign a sinner's steps to guide!" Often lost their quivering beam, Still the lights move slow before, Till they rest their ghastly gleam Right against an iron door. Thundering voices from within, Mixed with peals of laughter, rose; Lent its wild and wond'rous close! Four times on the still night broke; All with black the board was spread; Long since numbered with the dead! All the expected stranger greet. THE WILD HUNTSMEN. THIS is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the Wilde Jager of the German poet Bürger. The tradition upon which it is founded bears, that formerly a wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, named Falkenburg, was so much addicted to the pleasures of the chase, and otherwise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon the poor peasants who were under his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the people adopted a superstition, founded probably on the many various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a German forest, during the silence of the night. They conceived they still heard the cry of the wildgrave's hounds; and the well-known cheer of the deceased hunter, the sound of his horse's feet, and the rustling of the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly discriminated; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a benighted chasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with which the spectre Huntsman cheered his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, "Gluck zu, Falkenburg!" (Good sport to ye, Falkenburg!) "Dost thou wish me good sport?" answered a hoarse voice; "thou shalt share the game;" and there was thrown at him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never perfectly recovered the personal effects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with some variation, is universally believed all over Germany. The French had a similar tradition concerning an aerial hunter, who infested the forest of Fontainebleau. He was sometimes visible; when he appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be found in "Sully's Memoirs," who says he was called, Le Grand Veneur. At one time he chose to hunt so near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I mistake not, Sully himself, came out into the court, supposing it was the sound of the king returning from the chase. This phantom is elsewhere called saint Hubert. The superstition seems to have been very general, as appears from the following fine poetical description of this phantom chase, as it was heard in the wilds of Ross-shire. "Ere since, of old, the haughty thanes of Ross,- Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's ears THE wildgrave winds his bugle horn, The eager pack, from couples freed, Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled: Halloo, halloo! and hark again! Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. To match the princely chase, afford?" "Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallowed noise. "To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the warning spirit hear, To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain." "Away, and sweep the glades along!" The sable hunter hoarse replies; "To muttering monks leave matin song, And bells, and books, and mysteries." The wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, And, lanching forward with a bound, "Who, for thy drowsy priest-like rede, Would leave the jovial horn and hound? "Hence, if our manly sport offend! With pious fools go chant and pray: Each stranger horseman followed still. "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" A field with autumn's blessings crowned; A husbandman, with toil embrowned: "O mercy, mercy, noble lord! Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, "Earned by the sweat these brows have poured, In scorching hour of fierce July." Earnest the right hand stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey, The impetuous earl no warning heeds, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!" Then loudly rung his bugle horn, "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" So said, so done: a single bound Clears the poor labourer's humble pale: Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale. And man, and horse, and hound, and horn, Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. Again uproused, the timorous prey Scours moss, and moor, and holt, and hill; Hard run, he feels his strength decay, And trusts for life his simple skill. Too dangerous solitude appeared; He seeks the shelter of the crowd; Amid the flock's domestic herd His harmless head he hopes to shroud. O'er moss, and moor, and holt, and hill, His track the steady blood-hounds trace; O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, The furious earl pursues the chase. "O spare, thou noble baron, spare But furious keeps the onward way. "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, He cheers his furious hounds to go. In heaps the throttled victims fall; Down sinks their mangled herdsman near; The murderous cries the stag appal,Again he starts, new nerved by fear. With blood besmeared, and white with foam, While big the tears of anguish pour, He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, The humble hermit's hallowed bower. But man and horse, and horn and hound, Fast rattling on his traces go; The sacred chapel rung around With, "Hark away! and, holla, ho!" All mild, amid the rout profane, The holy hermit poured his prayer; "Forbear with blood God's house to stain; Revere his altar, and forbear! "The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wronged by cruelty, or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head: Be warned at length, and turn aside.” Still the fair horseman anxious pleads; The black, wild whooping, points the prey. Alas! the earl no warning heeds, But frantic keeps the forward way. "Holy or not, or right or wrong, And horse, and man, and horn, and hound, Could from his anxious lips be borne. No distant baying reached his ears: His courser, rooted to the ground, The quickening spur unmindful bears. Still dark and darker frown the shades, Dark, as the darkness of the grave; And not a sound the still invades, Save what a distant torrent gave. High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke; And from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke. "Oppressor of creation fair! Apostate spirit's hardened tool! God's meanest creature is his child." Brought storm and tempest on its wing. Well may I guess, but dare not tell; Close, close behind, he marks the throng, Appalled signs the frequent cross, WILLIAM AND HELEN. Imitated from the " Lenore" of Bürger. THE author had resolved to omit the following version of a well-known poem, in any collection which he might make of his poetical trifles. But the publishers having pleaded for its admission, the author has consented, though not unaware of the disadvantage at which this youthful essay (for it was written in 1795) must appear with those which have been executed by much more able hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Norwich, and that of Mr. Spencer. The following translation was written long before the author saw any other, and originated in the following circumstances. A lady of high rank in the literary world read this romantic tale, as translated by Mr. Taylor, in the house of the celebrated professor Dugald Stuart of Edinburgh. The author was not present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time; but a gentleman who had the pleasure of hearing the ballad, afterwards told him the story, and repeated the remarkable chorus, "Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride! Dost fear to ride with me?" In attempting a translation, then intended only to circulate among friends, the present author did not hesitate to make use of this impressive stanza; for which freedom he has since obtained the forgiveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it properly belongs. FROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose, With gallant Frederick's princely power Told Helen how he sped. With Paynim and with Saracen At length a truce was made, And old and young, and sire and son, Full many a maid her true love met, Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad; For none could tell her William's fate, The martial band is past and gone; And in distraction's bitter mood "O rise, my child," her mother said, "O mother, what is gone is gone; Death, death alone can comfort me; "O break, my heart, O break at once! His will, that turn'd thy bliss to bale, My William's love was heaven on earth, "Why should I pray to ruthless heav'n, "No sacrament can quench this fire, "O break, my heart, O break at once! Heaven's heaviest blow has fall'n on me, With thy frail child of clay! She knows not what her tongue has spoke; "Forbear, my child, this desp❜rate wo, "O mother, mother, what is bliss? Without my William what were heaven, Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, She beat her breast, she wrung her hands, And through the glimm'ring lattice shone The clank of echoing steel was heard, A heavy footstep sounded. And hark! and hark! a knock-Tap! tap! Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;- Wak'st thou or sleep'st? laugh'st thou or weep'st? Hast thought on me, my fair?" "My love! my love!-so late by night!- Much have I borne since dawn of morn; And to its bourne we both return "O rest this night within my arms, Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind; "Let the wind howl through hawthern bush! The steed is wight, the spur is bright; "Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st behind Upon my black barb steed: O'er stock and stile a hundred miles, "To-night-to-night a hundred miles!— The bell strikes twelve-dark dismal hour. "Look here, look here-the moon shines clear, We reach our bridal bed. "The black barb snorts, the bridal rings; Strong love prevail'd: she busks, she bounes, And round her darling William's waist And hurry! hurry! off they rode, Spurn'd from the courser's thundering heels, And on the right and on the left, Ere they could snatch a view, Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain,' "Sit fast-dost fear?-The moon shines clear Fleet goes my barb-keep hold! Fear'st thou?""O no!" she faintly said; "But why so stern and cold? "What yonder rings? what yonder sings? Why shrieks the owlet gray?" ""Tis death-bell's clang, 'tis funeral song,) The body to the clay. "With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, Ye may inter the dead: |