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Right where his charge had made a lane,

His valiant comrades burst,
With sword, and axe, and partizan,

And hack, and stab, and thrust.

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine.

And granted ground amain,

The mountain Bull, he bent his brows, And gored his sides again.

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield,
At Sempach in the flight,

The cloister vaults at Konigsfield
Hold many an Austrian knight.

It was the Archduke Leopold,
So lordly would he ride,

But he came against the Switzer churls,
And they slew him in his pride.

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
Has gall'd 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 flight 'gan take;
And he arrived in luckless hour
At Sempach on the lake.

He and his squire a fisher call'd (His name was flans 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 he steer'd,
And took the flyers in.

And while against the tide and wind
Hans stoutly row'd his way,
The noble to his followers sign'd
He should the boatman slay.

The fisher's back was to them turn'd,
The squire his dagger drew,
Hans 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 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.»

A pun on the URUS, or wild bull, which gives name to the can

ton of Uri.

It was a messenger of woe
Has sought the Austrian land;
« Ah! gracious lady, evil news!
My lord lies on the strand.

«At Sempach, on the battle-field, His bloody corpse lies there.»

« Ah, gracious God!» the lady cried, « What tidings of despair!>>

Now, would you know the minstrel wigh
Who sings of strife so stern,
Albert the Souter is he hight,
A burgher of Lucerne.

A merry man was he, I wot,
The night he made the lay,
Returning from the bloody spot,
Where God had judged the day.

THE NOBLE MORINGER AN ANCIENT BALLAD, TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN

THE original of these verses occurs in German popular songs, entitled Sammlu Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published by M and Von der Hagen, both, and more espe distinguished for their acquaintance wi popular poetry and legendary history of

In the German editor's notice of the stated to have been extracted from Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplai in Weisenhorn, which bears the date song is stated by the author to have been in the neighbourhood at that early peri as quoted by the German editor, see have believed the event he narrates. stones and obituaries to prove the exist sonages of the ballad, and discovers tually died on the 11th May, 1349, a Lu Countess of Marstetten, who was by bi of Moringer. This lady he supposes to ringer's daughter mentioned in the bal the same authority for the death of Neuffen in the same year. The editor seem to embrace the opinion of Prof Ulm, who, from the language of the ba date to the 15th century.

The legend itself turns on an incider Germany, and which perhaps was no pen in more instances than one, when long in the Holy Land, and their disco ceived no tidings of their fate. A stor circumstances, but without the mira of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the Haigh-hall, in Lancashire, the patrimo the late Countess of Balearras; and represented on stained glass upon ancient manor-house.

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The furious barb snorts fire and foam,

And, with a fearful bound, Dissolves at once in empty air,

And leaves her on the ground.

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard,
Pale spectres fleet along,

Wheel round the maid in dismal dance,
And howl the funeral song:

« Even when the heart's with anguish cleft,
Revere the doom of Heaven.»>
Her soul is from her body reft;
Her spirit be forgiven.

THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.

THESE verses are a literal translation of an ancient Swis ballad upon the battle of Sempach, fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss cantons er 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 as 1 Meister-singer or minstrel, and his courage as a scidier; 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 which his country's fortune was secured, may confr on Tchudi's verses an interest which they are not r titled to claim from their poetical merit. But balled poetry, the more literally it is translated, the more I loses its simplicity, without acquiring either grace strength; and therefore some of the faults of the verss must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as closely as possible to his original. The vari puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and disproportion J episodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age.

The military antiquary will derive some amusemezi from the minute particulars which the martial poet has recorded. The mode in which the Austrian men-≥4arms received the charge of the Swiss was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with their long lances The gallant Winkelried, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as m as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in these r battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. When fairs mingled together, the unwieldy length of their wer pons, aud cumbrous weight of their defensive armou rendered the Austrian men-at-arms a very unequa match for the light-armed mountaineers. The victors obtained by the Swiss over the German chivalry, k therto deemed as formidable on foot as on horseback, led to important changes in the art of war. The posi describes the Austrian knights and squires as culti the peaks from their boots ere they could act upez foot, in allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III.

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Right where his charge had made a lane,

His valiant comrades burst,

With sword, and axe, and partizan,

And hack, and stab, and thrust.

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine.

And granted ground amain,

The mountain Bull, he bent his brows, And gored his sides again.

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield,
At Sempach in the flight,

The cloister vaults at Konigsfield
Hold many an Austrian knight.

It was the Archduke Leopold,
So lordly would he ride,

But he came against the Switzer churls,
And they slew him in his pride.

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
Has gl'd 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 flight 'gan take;
And he arrived in luckless hour
At Sempach on the lake.

He and his squire a fisher call'd (His name was Haus 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 he steer'd,
And took the flyers in.

And while against the tide and wind
Hans stoutly row'd his way,
The noble to his followers sign'd
He should the boatman slay.

The fisher's back was to them turn'd,
The squire his dagger drew,
Hans 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 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.»

A pun on the URUS, or wild ball, which gives name to the can

ton of Uri.

It was a messenger of woe
Has sought the Austrian land;
« Ah! gracious lady, evil news!
My lord lies on the strand.

« At Sempach, on the battle-field, His bloody corpse lies there.»

« Ah, gracious God!» the lady cried, « What tidings of despair!»

Now, would you know the minstrel wight,
Who sings of strife so stern,
Albert the Souter is he hight,
A burgher of Lucerne.

A merry man was he, I wot,
The night he made the lay,
Returning from the bloody spot,
Where God had judged the day.

THE NOBLE MORINGER:

AN ANCIENT RALLAD,

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

THE original of these verses occurs in a collection of German popular songs, entitled Sammlung Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published by Messrs Buset 9a and Von der Hagen, both, and more especially the as, distinguished for their acquaintance with the ancien popular poetry and legendary history of Germany.

In the German editor's notice of the ballad, it stated to have been extracted from a mannsers Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to St Lena v in Weisenhorn, which bears the date 1533; and ar song is stated by the author to have been generally so in the neighbourhood at that early period. Thos as quoted by the German editor, seems faithfals have believed the event he narrates. He quotes > stones and obituaries to prove the existence of the pat sonages of the ballad, and discovers that there a tually ded on the 11th May, 1349, a Lady Von Neuffe Countess of Marstetten, who was by birth of the les a of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been Me ringer's daughter mentioned in the ballad. He quets the same authority for the death of Berckhold Va Neuffen in the same year. The editors, on the wick, seem to embrace the opinion of Professor Smith, 6° Ulm, who, from the language of the ballad, ascribes (7 date to the 15th century.

The legend itself turns on an incident not pecular: Germany, and which perhaps was not unlikely to bi pen in more instances than one, when crusaders abom long in the floly Land, and their disconsolate dame ceived no tidings of their fate. A story very similar iz

circumstances, but without the miraculous macbiert of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient lords t 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.

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