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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!»

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 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 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

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<< 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, Splash! splash! along the sea;

The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee.

How fled what moonshine faintly show'd!
How fled what darkness hid!

How fled the earth beneath their feet,
The heaven above their head!

« 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;
The race is well nigh done.>>

Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode,
Splash! splash! along the sea;
The scourge is red, the spur drops blood,
The flashing pebbles flee.

<< Hurrah! hurrah! well ride the dead;
The bride, the bride is come!
And soon we reach the bridal bed,
For, Helen, here's my home.>>

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
The birds of midnight scared;
And rustling like autumnal leaves,
Unhallow'd ghosts were heard.

O'er many a tomb and tomb-stone pale
He spurr'd the fiery horse,
Till sudden at an open grave

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 eyes desert the naked skull,

The mouldering flesh the bone, Till Helen's lily armes entwine 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,
Pale spectres fleet along,

Wheel round the maid in dismal dance,
And howl the funeral song:

<< Even when the heart's with anguish cleft, Revere the doom of Heaven.»>

Her soul is from her body reft;
Her spirit be forgiven.

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 he 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, and 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

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There was lacing then of helmets bright,
And closing ranks amain;

The peaks they hew'd from their boot-points
Might well nigh load a wain.1

And thus, they to each other said, << Yon handful down to hew Will be no boastful tale to tell, The peasants are so few.>>

The gallant Swiss confederates there,
They pray'd to God aloud,
And he display'd his rainbow fair
Against a swarthy cloud.

Then heart and pulse throbb'd more and more
With courage firm and high,

And down the good confederates bore
On the Austrian chivalry.

The Austrian Lion' 'gan to growl,
And toss his mane and tail;
And ball, and shaft, and cross-bow bolt
Went whistling forth like hail.

Lance, pike, and halberd mingled there,
The game was nothing sweet;
The boughs of many a stately tree
Lay shiver'd at their feet.

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast,
So close their spears they laid;
It chafed the gallant Winkelried,
Who to his comrades said-

<< I have a virtuous wife at home, A wife and infant son;

I leave them to my country's care,— This field shall soon be won.

<< These nobles lay their spears right thick, And keep full firm array,

Yet shall my charge their order break,
And make my brethren way.»

He rush'd against the Austrian band, In desperate career,

And with his body, breast, and hand, Bore down each hostile spear.

Four lances splinter'd on his crest, Six shiver'd in his side;

Still on the serried files he press'dHe broke their ranks, and died.

This patriot's self-devoted deed,
First tamed the Lion's mood,
And the four forest cantons freed
From thraldom by his blood.

1 This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned upwards, and so long that, in some cases, they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with small chains. When they alighted to fight upon foot, it would seem that the Austrian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these peaks, that they might move with the necessary activity.

2 A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold.

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