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"What yonder rings? what yonder sings? Why shrieks the owlet ?"gray ""Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, The body to the clay.

XLI.

"With song and clang, at morrow's dawn,
Ye may inter the dead:
To-night I ride, with my young bride,
To deck our bridal bed.

XLII.

"Come with thy choir, thou coffin'd guest, To swell our nuptial song!

Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! Come all, come all along!".

XLIII.

Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier;

The shrouded corpse arose: And, hurry! hurry! all the train The thundering steed pursues.

XLIV.

And, forward! forward! on they go; High snorts the straining steed; Thick pants the rider's labouring breath, As headlong on they speed.

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XLV.

O William, why this savage haste? And where thy bridal bed?". "'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill, And narrow, trustless maid."

XLVI.

"No room for me?"-"Enough for both;

Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!" O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge,

He drove the furious horse.

XLVII.

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

XLVIII.

Fled past on right and left how fast

Each forest, grove, and bower! On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower!

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THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

IMITATED FROM BÜRGER'S "WILDE JÄGER.”

HE Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo !
is fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

e eager pack, from couples freed, Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;

hile answering hound, and horn, and steed,

The mountain echoes startling wake. ne beams of God's own hallow'd day Had painted yonder spire with gold, nd, calling sinful man to pray, Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd:

it still the Wildgrave onward rides ; Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again! hen, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. 'ho was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; he right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell. he right-hand Horseman, young and fair,

His smile was like the morn of May; he left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. le waved his huntsman's cap on high, Cried, Welcome, welcome, noble lord!

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And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" A heedless wretch has cross'd the way; He gasps, the thundering hoofs below ;

But, live who can, or die who may,

Still," Forward, forward!" on they go. See, where yon simple fences meet,

A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd;

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, A husbandman with toil embrown'd: "O mercy, mercy, noble lord!

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, "Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd,

In scorching hour of fierce July."Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey ; The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, But furious holds the onward way.

"Away, thou hound! so basely born, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!"

Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" So said, so done :-A single bound

Clears the poor labourer's humble pale; Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale. And man and horse, and hound and horn, Destructive sweep the field along; While, joying o'er the wasted corn, Fell Famine marks the maddening throng.

Again uproused, the timorous prey Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill;

Hard run, he feels his strength decay, And trusts for life his simple skill. Too dangerous solitude appear'd;

He seeks the shelter of the crowd; Amid the flock's domestic herd

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, His track the steady blood-hounds trace;

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, The furious Earl pursues the chase. Full lowly did the herdsman fall ;—

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'O spare, thou noble Baron; spare These herds, a widow's little all;

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care!" Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey; The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,

But furious keeps the onward way. "Unmanner'd dog! To stop my sport Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, Though human spirits, of thy sort,

Were tenants of these carrion kine!"

Again he winds his bugle-horn,

"Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!" And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, He cheers his furious hounds to go. In heaps the throttled victims fall; Down sinks their mangled herdsman

near;

The murderous cries the stag appal,

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. With blood besmear'd, and white with foam,

While big the tears of anguish pour, He seeks, amid the forest's gloom,

The humble hermit's hallow'd bowe But man and horse, and horn and hound, Fast rattling on his traces go; The sacred chapel rung around With, "Hark away! and, holla, ho!" All mild, amid the rout profane, The holy hermit pour'd his prayer; "Forbear with blood God's house to stain;

Revere His altar, and forbear! "The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head:Be warn'd at length, and turn aside." Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads: The Black, wild whooping, points the

prey :Alas! the Earl no warning heeds, But frantic keeps the forward way,

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'Holy or not, or right or wrong,

Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, Not God himself, shall make me turn!" He spurs his horse, he winds his horn,

"Hark forward, forward, holla,ho!"But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne,

The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. And horse and man, and horn and hound.

And clamour of the chase, was gone For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound A deadly silence reign'd alone. Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around He strove in vain to wake his horn, In vain to call: for not a sound Could from his anxious lips be borne He listens for his trusty hounds;

No distant baying reach'd his ears: His courser, rooted to the ground,

The quickening spur unmindful bears Still dark and darker frown the shades Dark as the darkness of the grave;

nd not a sound the still invades, Save what a distant torrent gave.

ligh o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke; nd, from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke. Oppressor of creation fair! Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool! corner of God! Scourge of the poor! The measure of thy cup is full,

Be chased for ever through the wood; For ever roam the affrighted wild; And let thy fate instruct the proud, God's meanest creature is His child."

Twas hush'd-One flash, of sombre glare,

With yellow tinged the forests brown; Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, And horror chill'd each nerve and bone.

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!"

THE FIRE-KING.

"The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him."-Eastern Tale.

[1801.]

This ballad was written at the request of Mr. LEWIS, to be inserted in his Tales of Wonder.* It is the third in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, however, partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint-Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem.

BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear,

Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear;

And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee,
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie.

* Published in 1801,

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