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Tuese verses are a literal translation of an ancient Sem | ballad upon the battle of Sempach, fought oth Juls, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss cantos e tablished 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 3 2 Meister-singer or minstrel, and his courage as a sada dier; 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 wbich bis country's fortune was secured, may conta | on Tchudi's verses an interest which they are not el titled to claim from their poetical merit. But baiad poetry, the more literally it is translated, the more ! loses its simplicity, without acquiring cither grace strength; and therefore some of the faults of the verss. must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty ? keep as closely as possible to his original. The vannes puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and disproportionne episodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age.

The military antiquary will derive some amuserna from the minute particulars which the martial poet bå recorded. The mode in which the Austrian metrin arms received the charge of the Swiss was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with their long laan. The gallant Winkelried, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as may as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in these te battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. When faits mingled together, the unwieldy length of their pons, aud cumbrous weight of their defensive armo. rendered the Austrian men-at-aris a very toeq. match for the light-armed mountaineers. The victor obtained by the Swiss over the German chivalry, therto deemed as formidable on foot as ou borseback. led to important changes in the art of war. The pare describes the Austrian knights and squires as cute the peaks from their boots cre they could act uppt foot, in allusion to an inconvenient piece of topp, often mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold a

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« One thrust of thine outrageous horn

Has geld the knight so sore, That to the church-yard he is borne,

To range our glens no more.»

An Austrian noble left the stour,

And fast the thi;ht gan take; And be arrived in luckless lour

At Sempach on the lake.

He and his squire a bisher callid

(llis name was llans 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, His shallop to the shore le steerd,

And took the flyers in.

And while against the tide and wind

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

He should the boatman şlay.

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

In the German editor's notice of the balhad, 118 stated to have been extracted from a maousas Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to St Leoord in Weisenhorn, which bears the date 1533; and the song is stated by the author to have been generally say in the neighbourhood at that carly period. Themata, as quoted by the German editor, seems faithful have believed the event he narrates. Ne quotes or stones and obituaries to prove the existence of the inte sonages of the ballad, and discovers that there ** tually d ed on the sith May, 1349, a Lady Von Neuthat Countess of Marstetten, who was by birth of the late of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been om ringer's daughter mentioned in the ballad. He çmalus the same authority for the death of Berckhold fox Neuffen in the same year. The editors, on the whale, seem to embrace the opinion of Professor Smith, Ulm, who, from the language of the ballad, ascribes t" | date to the 15th century.

The legend itself turns on an incident not pecula* Germany, and which perhaps was not nolikely to bilo pen in more instances than one, when crusaders abod long in the Iloly Land, and their disconsolate dams] ceived no tidings of their fate. A story very similar un circumstances, but without the miraculous machines of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient lords id Haigh-hall, in Lancashire, the patrimonialiuteritances the late Countess of Balcarras; and the particulars are represented on stained glass upon a window is that ancient manor house.

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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.

« Tis I bave 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 thou for my return wilt wait
Seven twelvemonths and a day.»

Then out and spoke that lady bright,

Sore troubled in her cheer,
« 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 ?»

IV. · 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.

« 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 bis leave,
Sioce God hath lieard his vow.»

It was the poble Moringer

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

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

*T was furr'd with miniver,
He dipp'd his hand 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 thine,
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.»

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 care,
His gallant esquire stood him nigh,

He was Marstetten'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 ?

« To watch and ward my castle strong,
• And to protect my land,
And to the hunting or the host

To lead my vassal 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.

XII. « 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 twelvemopubs and a day.

It was the noble Moringer

Within an orchard slept.
When on the baron's slombering sense

A boding vision crept;
And whisper'd in his ear a voice,

« 'T is time, Sir Knight, to wake, Thy lady and thine heritage

Another master take.

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