"Speak to me! mighty grief
Ere now the dust hath stirr'd!
Hear me, but hear me !-father, chief,
My king! I must be heard!—
Hush'd, hush'd-how is it that I call,
And that thou answerest not?

When was it thus, woe, woe for all
The love my soul forgot!

Thy silver hairs I see,

So still, so sadly bright!

And father, father! but for me,
They had not been so white!

I bore thee down, high heart! at last,
No longer couldst thou strive ;-

Oh! for one moment of the past,

To kneel and say—' forgive!'

"Thou wert the noblest king,
On royal throne e'er seen;

And thou didst wear in knightly ring,
Of all, the stateliest mien;

And thou didst prove, where spears are proved, the bravest heart—

In war,

Oh! ever the renown'd and loved

Thou wert-and there thou art!

"Thou that my boyhood's guide

Didst take fond joy to be !— The times I've sported at thy side, And climb'd thy parent knee!

And there before the blessed shrine,

My sire! I see thee lie,—

How will that sad still face of thine

Look on me till I die!"

THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE
FALLEN TREE.

["Here (at Brereton in Cheshire) is one thing incredibly strange, but attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for several days."—CAMDEN'S Britannia.]

YES! I have seen the ancient oak

On the dark deep water cast,

And it was not fell'd by the woodman's stroke,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;

For the axe might never touch that tree,
And the air was still as a summer sea.

I saw it fall, as falls a chief

By an arrow in the fight,

And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf,
At the crashing of its might!

And the startled deer to their coverts drew,
And the spray of the lake as a fountain's flew!

'Tis fallen! but think thou not I weep For the forest's pride o'erthrown;

An old man's tears lie far too deep
To be pour'd for this alone!

But by that sign too well I know,
That a youthful head must soon be low!

A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye—
Well may I weep! for the boy is fair,
Too fair a thing to die!

But on his brow the mark is set—
Oh! could my life redeem him yet!

He bounded by me as I gazed
Alone on the fatal sign,

And it seem'd like sunshine when he raised

His joyous glance to mine!

With a stag's fleet step he bounded by,

So full of life-but he must die!

He must, he must! in that deep dell,
By that dark water's side,

'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell
But an heir of his fathers died.

And he there's laughter in his eye,
Joy in his voice-yet he must die!

I've borne him in these arms, that now

Are nerveless and unstrung;
And must I see, on that fair brow,
The dust untimely flung?

I must!-yon green oak, branch and crest,
Lies floating on the dark lake's breast!

The noble boy!-how proudly sprung

The falcon from his hand!

It seem'd like youth to see him young,

A flower in his father's land!

But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh.
For the tree hath fall'n, and the flower must die.

Say not 'tis vain!—I tell thee, some
Are warn'd by a meteor's light,
Or a pale bird, flitting, calls them home,
Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go!—and he too, he—
Woe for the fall of the glorious Tree!

THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

[It is a popular belief in the Odenwald, that the passing of the Wild Huntsman announces the approach of war. He is supposed to issue with his train from the ruined castle of Rodenstein, and traverse the air to the opposite castle of Schnellerts. It is confidently asserted, that the sound of his phantom horses and hounds was heard by the Duke of Baden before the commencement of the last war in Germany.]

THY rest was deep at the slumberer's hour,
If thou didst not hear the blast

Of the savage horn from the mountain tower,
As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass'd,
And the roar of the stormy chase went by,
Through the dark unquiet sky!

The stag sprung up from his mossy bed
When he caught the piercing sounds,
And the oak-boughs crash'd to his antler'd head,
As he flew from the viewless hounds;
And the falcon soar'd from her craggy height,
Away through the rushing night!

The banner shook on its ancient hold,
And the pine in its desert place,
As the cloud and tempest onward roll'd
With the din of the trampling race;

And the glens were fill'd with the laugh and shout, And the bugle, ringing out!

From the chieftain's hand the wine-cup fell,

At the castle's festive board,

And a sudden pause came o'er the swell
Of the harp's triumphal chord;
And the Minnesinger's thrilling lay
In the hall died fast away.

The convent's chanted rite was stay'd,
And the hermit dropp'd his beads,
And a trembling ran through the forest-shade,
At the neigh of the phantom steeds,
And the church-bells peal'd to the rocking blast
As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass'd.

The storm hath swept with the chase away,
There is stillness in the sky;

* Minnesinger, love-singer,—the wandering minstrels of Germany were so called in the middle ages.