All mild, amid the rout profane, The holy hermit pour'd his prayer;— « Forbear with blood God's house to stain; Revere his altar, and forbear! « The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head :Be warn'd at length, and turn aside.»> Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads; The Black, wild whooping, points the prey:Alas! the carl 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, And horse, and man, and horn, and hound, 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, 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 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.» 'T was 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; 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, 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 cars. 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!» WILLIAM AND HELEN. Imitated from the «LENORE» of BURGER. THE author had resolved to omit the following version of a well-known poem, in any collection which he might make of his poetical tritles. 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 Stewart 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 « Hollo! thou felon, follow here: To bridal bed we ride; And thou shalt prance a fetter dance Before me and my bride.» And hurry, hurry! clash, clash, clash! The wasted form descends; And, fleet as wind through hazel-bush, The wild career attends. Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, How fled what moonshine faintly show'd! How fled what darkness hid! How fled the earth beneath their feet, « Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear, And well the dead can ride; Does faithful Helen fear for them?»> << O leave in peace the dead!»> « Barb! barb! methinks I hear the cock; The sand will soon be run: Barb! barb! I smell the morning air; Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, « Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead; Reluctant on its rusty hinge Revolved an iron door, And by the pale moon's setting beam Were seen a church and tower. With many a shriek and cry whiz round O'er many a tomb and tomb-stone pale He check'd the wond'rous course. The falling gauntlet quits the rein, Down drops the casque of steel, The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, The spur his gory heel. The desert the naked skull, A ghastly skeleton. The furious barb snorts fire and foam, And, with a fearful bound, Dissolves at once in empty air, And leaves her on the ground. Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, « Even when the heart's with anguish cleft, THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. THESE verses are a literal translation of an ancient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sempach, fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss cantons established their independence. The author is Albert Tchudi, denominated the Souter, from his profession of a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed | highly among his countrymen, both for his powers as a Meister-singer or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier; so that he might share the praise conferred by Collins on Eschylus, that— Not alone be nursed the poet's flame, But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steel. The circumstance of their being written by a poet returning from the well-fought field he describes, and in which his country's fortune was secured, may confer on Tchudi's verses an interest which they are not entitled to claim from their poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more literally it is translated, the more it loses its simplicity, without acquiring either grace or strength; and therefore some of the faults of the verses must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as closely as possible to his original. The various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, aud disproportioned episodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. The military antiquary will derive some amusement from the minute particulars which the martial poet has recorded. The mode in which the Austrian men-atarms 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 horseback, 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. |