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«O Hare-castle,2 thou heart of bare!»

This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the Fierce Oxenstern replied;

middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned ap«Sualt see then low the game will fare,»

wards, and so long that, in some cases, they were fastened to the

knees of the wearer with small chains. When they alighted to fight The launting knight replied.

opon foot, it would seem that the Austrian gen lemen found it ne* All the Swiss clergy who wero able to bear arms fought in this cessary to cut off these peaks, that they might move with the neces

sary activity. patriotic war. 2 In the original, Haasenstein, or Hare-stone.

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

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« One thrust of thine outrageous hora

Has gåJI'd the knight so sore, That to the churcb-yard lie is borne,

To range our glens no inore.»

An Austrian noble left the stour, .

And fast tbetli; hi gan take; And he arrived in luckless hour

At Sempach on the lake.

He and his squire a fisher call'd

(ilis name was Vans Vou Rot), « For love, or meed, or charity,

Receive us in thy boat.»

Their anxious call the fisher heard,

Aud, glad the meed to win, Ilis shallop to the shore lie steerd,

And took the flyers in,

And while against the tide and wind

Hans stoutly row'd liis way, The noble to his followers sign'd

He sliould the boatman slay.

The original of these verses occurs in a collection of German popular songs, entitled Sammlung Deutschen Volkslieder, Brolin, 1807, published by Messrs Busching and Von der Hagen, both, and more especially the last, distinguished for their acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and legendary history of Germany.

In the German editor's notice of the ballad, it is stated to have been extracted from a manuscript Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to St Leonard in Weisenhorn, which bears the date 1533 ; and the song is stated by the author to liave been generally sung in the neighbourhood at that early period. Thomann, as quoted by the Gerinan editor, seems faitlifully to have believed the event he narrates, le quotes lombstones and obituaries to prove the existence of the personages of the ballad, and discovers that there actually d cd on the 11th May, 1349, a Lady Voo Neuffen, Countess of Marstetten, who was by birth of the house of Moringer. This lady be supposes to bave been Moringer's daughter mentioned in die ballad. He quotes the same autliority for the death of Berckbold Von Neuffen in the same year. The editors, on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of Professor Smith, of Ulm, wbo, from the language of the ballad, ascribes its date to the 15th century.

The legend itself turns on an incident not peculiar to Germany, and wliicli perhaps was not unlikely to happen in more instances than one, when crusaders abode long in the lloly Land, and their disconsolate dames received no tidings of their fate. A story very similar in circumstances, but without the miraculous machinery of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient lords of Haigh-hall, in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of the late Countess of Balcarras; and the particulars are represented on stained glass upon a window in that ancient manor house.

The fisher's back was to them turnd,

The squire his dauger drew, Ilans saw his shadow in the lake,

The boat he overthrew.

He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they strove,

He stunn'd them with his oar; « Now, drink ye deep, my geuile sirs,

You'll ne'er stab boatman more.

« Two gilded fishes in the lake

This morning have I caught,
Their silver scales may much avail,

Their carrion fleshi is naught.» " A pon on tbe Urus, or wild bull, which gives name to the canton of Uri.

VIIT. The chamberlain was blunt and true,

And sturdily said he, « Abide, my lord, and rule your own,

And take this rede from me; That woman's faith 's a brittle trust

Seven twelvemonths didst thou say? I'll pledge me for no lady's truth Beyond the seventh fair day.»

The noble baron turn'd him round,
His heart was full of

His gallant esquire stood him nigh,

He was Marstellen's heir, To whom he spoke right anxiously,

« Thou trusty squire to me, Wilt thou receive this weighty trust

When I am o'er the sea ?

O, will you hear a knightly tale

Of old Bohemian day,
It was the noble Moringer

In wedlock bed he lay;
He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame,

That was as sweet as May,
And said, « Now, lady of my heart,
Attend the words I say.

« 'T is I have vow'd a pilgrimage

Unto a distant shrine,
And I must seek Saint Thomas-land,

And leave the land that's mine;
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state,

So thou wilt pledge thy fay,
That thon for my return wilt wait
Seven twelvemonths and a day.»

Then out and spoke that lady bright,

Sore troubled in her chcer, « Now, tell me true, thou noble knight,

What order takest thou here;
And who shall lead thy vassal band,

And hold thy lordly sway,
And be thy lady's guardian true
When thou art far away ?»

Out spoke the noble Moringer,

« Of that have thou no care, There's

many a valiant gentleman
Of me holds living fair ;
The trustiest shall rule my land,

My vassals and my state,
And be a guardian tried and true
To thee, my lovely mate.

V. « As christian-man, I needs must keep

The vow which I have plight; When I am far in foreign land,

Remember thy true knight; And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve,

For vain were sorrow now, But grant thy Moringer his leave,

Since God hath heard his vow.» 1

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« To watch and ward my castle strong,

And to protect my land,
And to the hunting or the host

To lead my vassai band;
And pledge thee for my lady's faith,

Till seven long years are gone,
And guard her as Our Lady dear
Was guarded by Saint John.»

Marstetten's heir was kind and true,

But fiery, hot, and young,
And readily he answer made,

With too presumptuous tongue, « My noble lord, cast care away,

And on your journey wend,
And trust this charge to me until
Your pilgrimage have end.

Rely upon my plighted faith,

Which shall be truly tried,
To guard your lands, and ward your towers,

And with your vassals ride ;
And for your lovely lady's faith,

So virtuous and so dear,
I'll gage my head it knows no change,
Be absent thirty year.»

The noble Moringer took cheer

When thus he heard him speak,
And doubt forsook his troubled brow,

And sorrow left his cheek;
A long adieu he bids to all-

Hoists top-sails and away,
And wanders in Saint Thomas-land
Seven twelvemonths and a day.

It was the noble Moringer

Within an orchard slept,
When on the baron's slumbering sense

A boding vision crept;
And whisperd in his ear a voice,

« 'T is time, Sir Koight, to wake, Thy lady and thine heritage Another master take.

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It was the noble Moringer

From bed he made him bowne, And met him there his chamberlain,

With ewer and with gown:
He flung the mantle on his back,

"T was furr'd with miniver,
He dipp'd his liand in water cold,

And bathed his forehead fair.

VII. « Now hear,» he said, « Sir Chamberlain,

True vassal art thou mine, And such the trust that I repose

In that proved worth of ibine,
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers,

And lead my vassal train,
And pledge thee for my lady's faith

Till I return again.»

« Thy tower another banner knows,

Thy steeds another rein,
And stoop them to another's will

Thy gallant vassal train ;
And she, the lady of thy love,

So faithful once and fair,
This night, within thy father's hall,
She weds Marstetten's heir.»

It is the noble Moringer

Starts up and tears his beard, « Oh would that I had ne'er been born!

What tidings have I heard !
To lose my lordship and my lands

The less would be my care,
But, God! that e'er a squire untrue
Should wed my lady fair!

XVII. « O good Saint Thomas, hear,» he pray'd,

My patron saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land

Even while I pay my vow! My wife he brings to infamy

That was so pure of vame,
And I am far in foreign land,
And must endure the shame.»

It was the good Saint Thomas, then,

Who heard his pilgrim's prayer,
And sent a sleep so deep and dead

That it o'erpowerd bis care;
He waked in fair Bohemian land,

Outstretclid beside a rill,
High on the right a castle stood,
Low on the left a mill.

The Moringer he started up

As one from spell unbound, And, dizzy with surprise and joy,

Gazed wildly all around;
« I know my father's ancient towers,

The the stream I know
Now blessed be my patron saint
Who cheer'd lis pilgrim's woe!»

He leant upon his pilgrim staff,

And to the mill be drew,
So alter'd was his goodly form,

That nooc their master knew;
The baron to the miller said,

« Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land What tidings may there be?»

The miller answer'd him again,

« He knew of little news, Save that the lady of the land

Did a new bridegroom chuse ;
Her husband died in distant land,

Such is the constant word,
His death sits heavy on our souls,

He was a worthy lord.

XXII. « Of him I held the little mill

Which wins me living free,
God rest the baron in his grave,

He still was kind to me;
And wlien Saint Martin's tide comes round,

And millers like their toll,
The priest that prays for Moringer
Shall have both cope and stole.»

It was the noble Moringer

To climb the bill began,
And stood before the bolted gate

A woe and weary man;
« Now help me, every saint in heaven,

That can compassion take,
To gain the entrance of my hall,
This woful match to break.»

His very knock it sounded sad,

His call was sad and slow,
For heart and head, and voice and hand,

Were heavy all with woe;
And to the warder thus he spoke :

Friend, to thy lady say,
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land
Craves harbour for a day.

« I've wander'd many a weary step,

My strength is well nigh done,
And if she turn me from her gate

I'll see no morrow's sun;
I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake,

A pilgrim's bed and dole,
And for the sake of Moringer's,
Her once loved husband's soul.»

It was the stalwart warder then

He came his dame before,
« A pil rim worn and travel-toild

Stands at the castle-door;
And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake,

For harbour and for dole,
And for the sake of Moringer,
Thy noble husband's soul.»

The lady's gentle heart was moved,

« Do up the gate,» she said,
« And bid the wanderer welcome be

To banquet and to bed ;
And since he names my husband's name,

So that he lists to stay,
These towers shall be his harbourage
A twelvemonth and a day.»

It was the stalwart warder then

Undid the portal broad,
It was the noble Moringer

That o'er the threshold strode; « And have thou thanks, kind Heaven,» he said,

« Though from a mau of sin, That the true lord stands here once more

His castle gate within.»

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Then up the hall paced Moringer,

His step was sad and slow,
It sat full heavy ou lois heart,

None seem'd their lord to know;
He sat him on a lowly bench,

Oppress'd with woe and wrong,
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him
Seem a little space so long.

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er,

And come was evening hour,
The time was nigh when new-made brides

Retire to nuptial bower;
« Our castle's wont,» a brides-

man said,
« Hath been both firm and long,
No guest to harbour

our halls
Till he shall chaunt a song.»

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there,

As he sat by the bride,
My merry miastrel folks,» quoth he,

Lay shalm and harp aside;
Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay,

The castle's rule to hold;
And well his guerdon will I pay
With garment and with gold.»

« Chill flows the lay of frozen age,»

'T was thus the pilgrim sung,
« Nor golden meed, nor garment gay,

Unlocks her heavy tongue ;
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay,

At board as rich as thine,
And by my side as fair a bride,
With all her charms, was mine.

« But time traced furrows on my face,

And I grew silver-haird,
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youlli,

She left this brow and beard;
Once rich, but now a palmer poor,

I tread life's latest stage,
And mingle with your bridal mirth
The lay of frozen age.»

It was the poble lady there

This woful lay that hears,
- And for the aged pilgrim's grief

ller eye was dimm'd with tears;
She bade her gallant cup-bearer

A golden beaker take,
And bear it to the palmer poor
To quaff it for her sake.

It was the noble Moringer

That dropp'd, amid the wine,
A bridal-ring of burning gold,

So costly and so fine;
Now listen, geniles, to my song,

It tells you but the sooth,
'T was with that very ring of gold

He pledged his bridal truth.

XXXVI. Then to the cup-bearer he said,

« Do me one kindly deed, And should my better days return,

Full rich shall be ihy meed;
Dear back the golden cup again

To yonder bride so gay,
And crave her, of her courtesy,
To pledge the palmer gray.”

The cup-bearer was courtly bred,

Nor was the boon denied,
The golden cup he took again,

And bore it to the bride; « Lady,» he said, « pour reverend guest

Sends this, and bids me pray,
That, in thy noble courtesy,
Thou pledge the palmer gray.»

The ring hath caught the lady's eye,

She views it close and near,
Then might you hear her shriek aloud,

« The Morioger is here!»
Then might you see her start from scat,

While tears in torrents fell,
But whether 't was for joy or woe,
The ladies best can tell.

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven,

And every saintly power,
That had return'd the Moringer

Before the midnight hour;
And loud she utter'd vow on vow,

That never was there bride
That had like her preserved her troth,
Or been so sorely tried.

« Yes, here I claim the praise,» she said,

« To constant matrons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight

So stedfastly and true;
For count the term howe'er you will,

So that you count aright,
Seven iwelvemonths and a day are out
When bells toll twelve to-night.»

It was Marstetten then rose up,

His falchion there he drew,
He kneel'd before the Moringer,

And down his weapon threw; « My oath and knighily faith are broke,»

These were the words he said, « Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, And take thy vassal's hcad.»

The noble Moringer he smiled,

And then aloud did say,
« lle gathers wisdom thai hath roam'd

Seven twelvemonths and a day. My daughter now hath fifteen years,

Fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose,

Apd name her for my heir.

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