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"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 reign'd 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 reach'd 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.

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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! f

Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool!Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor!The measure of thy cup is full.

"Be chased for ever through the wood;

For ever roam the affrighted wild; And let thy fate instruct the proud, (

God's meanest creature is his child."

'Twas hush'd: One flash, of sombre glare, With yellow tinged the forests brown;

Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, And horror chill'd each nerve and bone.

Cold pour'd 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, Mix'd 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 woe;

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 cavern'd space,
At midnight's witching hour, ascend.

This is the horn, and hound, and horse,
That oft the lated peasant hears;

Appall'd he signs the frequent cross,
When the wild din invades his ears.

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear
For human pride, for human woe,

When, at his midnight mass, he hears
The infernal cry of, "Holla, ho!"

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THE FIRE KING.

"The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him." Eastern Tale.

[1801.]

This ballad was written at the request of Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his " Tales of Wonder."! It is the thirdin a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, however,partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint-Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem.

Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear,
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear;
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee,
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie.

O see you that castle, so strong and so high? And see you that lady, the tear in her eye"

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i Published in 1801.

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And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land,
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand?

"Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me,
What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie?
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand?
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land?"

"O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave,
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have;
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon,
For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians
have won."

A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung;
O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she flung:"Oh palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee,
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie.

"And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave,
O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave?
When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rush'd on,
O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?"—

"O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows;
O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows:

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