Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong; And the Red-cross wax'd faint, and the Crescent came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave; The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low How the Red-cross it conquer'd, the Crescent it fell : ; THIS tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment introduced in Goethe's "Claudina Von Villa Bella," where it is sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the family, while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit it may possess to my friend Mr. LEWIS, to whom it was sent in an extremely rude state; and who, after some material improvements, published it in his Tales of Wonder. FREDERICK leaves the land of France, Homeward hastes his steps to measure, Careless casts the parting glance On the scene of former pleasure. Joying in his prancing steed, Keen to prove his untried blade, Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead Över mountain, moor, and glade. Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn, Lovely Alice wept alone; Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, Hope, and peace, and honour flown. Mark her breast's convulsive throbs! See, the tear of anguish flows!Mingling soon with bursting sobs, Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd; Seven long days and nights are o'er ; Death in pity brought his aid, As the village bell struck four. Far from her, and far from France, Faithless Frederick onward rides ; Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. Heard ye not the boding sound, As the tongue of yonder tower, Slowly, to the hills around, Told the fourth, the fated hour? Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, Yet no cause of dread appears; Bristles high the rider's hair, Struck with strange mysterious fears. Desperate, as his terrors rise, In the steed the spur he hides; From himself in vain he flies; Anxious, restless, on he rides. Seven long days, and seven long nights, Wild he wander'd, woe the while! Ceaseless care, and causeless fright, Urge his footsteps many a mile. Weary, wet, and spent with toil, Fast his steed the wanderer bound: Down a ruin'd staircase slow, Next his darkling way he wound. Long drear vaults before him lie! Glimmering lights are seen to glide !"Blessed Mary, hear my cry! Deign a sinner's steps to guide!" Often lost their quivering beam, Still the lights move slow before, Till they rest their ghastly gleam Right against an iron door. Thundering voices from within, Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose; As they fell, a solemn strain Lent its wild and wondrous close! Midst the din, he seem'd to hear Voice of friends, by death removed ;Well he knew that solemn air, 'Twas the lay that Alice loved.Hark! for now a solemn knell Four times on the still night broke; Four times, at its deaden'd swell, Echoes from the ruins spoke. As the lengthen'd clangours die, All with black the board was spread; Girt by parent, brother, friend, Long since numbered with the dead! Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, High their meagre arms they wave, THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. [1818.] 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, 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. 'TWAS when among our linden-trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And grey-hair'd peasants say that these Betoken foreign arms,) Then look'd we down to Willisow, The Austrian nobles made their vow, Their onward march they make. A skirmish in Helvetian hills "But where now shall we find a priest 'Right heavily upon your head Together have they join'd; "O Hare-castle, thou heart of hare!" There was lacing then of helmets bright, Might well-nigh load a wain. "Yon handful down to hew Will be no boastful tale to tell, The peasants are so few." The gallant Swiss Confederates there 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 main and tail; Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there, The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast, "I have a virtuous wife at home, I leave them to my country's care,—— And with his body, breast, and hand, This patriot's self-devoted deed First tamed the Lion's mood, And the four forest cantons freed From thraldom by his blood. Right where his charge had made a lane, His valiant comrades burst, With sword, and axe, and partisan, And hack, and stab, and thrust. The daunted Lion 'gan to whine, And granted ground amain, The Mountain Bull he bent his brows, But he came against the Switzer churls, The heifer said unto the bull, "And shall I not complain? There came a foreign nobleman To milk me on the plain. "One thrust of thine outrageous horn He and his squire a fisher call'd, (His name was Hans von Rot,) "For love, or meed, or charity, Receive us in thy boat!" Their anxious call the fisher heard, And, glad the meed to win, And while against the tide and wind He should the boatman slay. The fisher's back was to them turn'd, 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 gentle 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 flesh is naught." 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, II. "'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that's mine; III. Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer, IV. Out spoke the noble Moringer, "Of that have thou no care, V. "As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight, VI. It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune, |