The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;
While answering hound, and horn, and steed,
The mountain echoes startling wake.
The beams of God's own hallowed day

Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful man to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled:
But still the wildgrave onward rides;

Halloo, halloo! and hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,

Two stranger horsemen join the train. Who was each stranger, left and right,

Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
The right hand steed was silver white,

The left, the swarthy hue of hell.
The right hand horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;
The left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.
He waved his huntsman's cap on high,
Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,

To match the princely chase, afford?" "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: Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend; Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!"

The wildgrave spurred his courser light,
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill;
And on the left, and on the right,

Each stranger horseman followed still.
Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn,

A stag more white than mountain snow: And louder rung the wildgrave's horn,

"Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" A heedless wretch has crossed the way;

He gasps, the thundering hoofs below: But, live who can, or die who may,

66

Still, Forward, forward!" on they go. See, where yon simple fences meet,

A field with autumn's blessings crowned; See, prostrate at the wildgrave's feet,

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,
But furious holds the onward way.
"Away, thou hound! so basely born,
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,
Destructive sweep the field along;
While joying o'er the wasted corn,

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. Full lowly did the herdsman fall;

"O spare, thou noble baron, spare These herds, a widow's little all;

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care."
Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey;
The earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,

But furious keeps the onward way.
"Unmannered dog! To stop my sport

Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, Though human spirits, of thy sort,

Were tenants of these carrion kine!"
Again he winds his bugle horn,

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,

Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song,

Not God himself, shall make me turn!" He spurs his horse, he winds his horn,

"Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne,

The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. And horse, and man, and horn, and hound,

And clamour of the chase was gone; For hoofs, and howls, and bugle sound, A deadly silence reigned alone.

Wild gazed the affrighted earl around;
He strove in vain to wake his horn;
In vain to call; for not a sound

Could from his anxious lips be borne.
He listens for his trusty hounds;

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!
Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor!
The measure of thy cup is full.
"Be chased forever through the wood;
For ever roam the affrighted wild;
And let thy fate instruct the proud,

God's meanest creature is his child."
'Twas hushed: one flash, of sombre glare,
With yellow tinged the forests brown;
Up rose the wildgrave's bristling hair,

And horror chilled each nerve and bone. Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill;

A rising wind began to sing; And louder, louder, louder still,

Brought storm and tempest on its wing. Earth heard the call! Her entrails rend;

From yawning rifts, with many a yell, Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend

The misbegotten dogs of hell. What ghastly Huntsman next arose,

Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
His eye like midnight lightning glows,

His steed the swarthy hue of hell.
The wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn,

With many a shriek of helpless wo;
Behind him hound, and horse, and horn,
And, "Hark away, and holla, ho!"
With wild despair's reverted eye,

Close, close behind, he marks the throng, With bloody fangs, and eager cry,

In frantic fear he scours along.

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase,
Till time itself shall have an end
By day, they scour earth's caverened space,
At midnight's witching hour, ascend.
This is the horn, and hound, and horse,
That oft the lated peasant hears;

Appalled signs the frequent cross, When the wild din invades his ears. The wakeful priest oft drops a tear

For human pride, for human wo, When, at his midnight mass, he hears The infernal cry of "Holla, ho!"

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,—

The clank of echoing steel was heard,
As off the rider bounded,
And slowly on the winding-stair
A heavy footstep sounded.

And hark! and hark! a knock-Tap! tap!
A rustling stifled noise;-
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;-
At length a whisp'ring voice.
"Awake, awake, arise, my love!
How, Helen, dost thou fare?
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!-
I wak'd, I wept for thee:
Much have I borne since dawn of morn;
Where, William, could'st thou be?"
"We saddled late-From Hungary
I rode since darkness fell;
And to its bourne we both return
Before the matin bell."

Austria men-at-arms received the charge of the Swiss was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with their long lances. The gallant Winkelried, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as many as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in these iron battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length of their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their defensive armour, rendered the Austrian men-at-arms a very unequal match for the light-armed mountaineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over the German chivalry, hitherto deemed as formidable on foot as on horse-back, led to important changes in the art of war. The poet describes the Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III, archduke of Austria, called "The handsome man-at-arms," was slain in the battle of Sempach, with the flower of his chivalry.

'Twas when among our linden trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And gray-hair'd peasants say that these Betoken foreign arms,)

Then look'd we down to Willisow,
The land was all in flame;

We knew the archduke Leopold
With all his army came.

The Austrian nobles made their vow,
So hot their heart and bold,
"On Switzer carles we'll trample now,
And slay both young and old."
With clarion loud, and banner proud,
From Zurich on the lake,
In martial pomp and fair array,
Their onward march they make.
"Now list, ye lowland nobles all,

Ye seek the mountain strand,
Nor wot ye what shall be your lot
In such a dangerous land.

"I rede ye, shrive you of your sins, Before you further go;

A skirmish in Helvetian hills

May send your souls to wo."

"But where now shall we find a priest, Or shrift that he may hear?" "The Switzer priest has ta'en the field, He deals a penance drear. "Right heavily upon your head

He'll lay his hand of steel; And with his trusty partizan Your absolution deal."

"Twas on a Monday morning then, The corn was steep'd in dew, And merry maids had sickles ta'en, When the host to Sempach drew. The stalwart men of fair Lucerne

Together have they join'd; The pith and core of manhood stern, Was none cast looks behind.

It was the lord of Hare castle,

And to the duke he said, "Yon little band of brethren true

Will meet us undismay'd."

A pun on the archduke's name, Leopold,