"The founts, the many gushing founts, which to the wild ye gave, Of you, my chiefs, shall sing aloud, as they pour a joyous wave; And the groves, with whose deep lovely gloom ye hung the pilgrim's way, Shall send from all their sighing leaves your praises on the day. "The very walls your bounty reared, for the stranger's homeless head, Shall find a murmur to record your tale, my glorious dead! Though the grass be where ye feasted once, where lute and cittern rung, And the serpent in your palaces lie coiled amidst its young. "It is enough! mine eye no more of joy or splendour sees, I leave your name in lofty faith, to the skies and to the breeze! I go, since earth her flower hath lost, to join the bright and fair, And call the grave a kingly house, for ye, my chiefs, are there!" A dim and deeply-bosomed grove Such as the shadowy violets love, The fawn and forest-bee. The darkness of the chestnut bough And bore a music all subdued, And led a silvery sheen, For something viewlessly around While sending forth a quiet gleam A lowly chapel rose. A pathway to that still retreat For on a brilliant bed of flowers, Even at the threshold made, To sleep?-oh! ne'er on childhood's eye, Yet still a tender crimson glow Its cheek's pure marble dyed'T was but the light's faint streaming flow Through roses heaped beside. I stooped-the smooth round arm was chill, "Alas!" I cried, "fair faded thing! Thou hast wrung bitter tears, But then a voice came sweet and low- And in her still, clear, matron face, A shadowed image I could trace "Stranger! thou pitiest me," she said, With lips that faintly smiled, "As here I watch beside my dead, My fair and precious child. "But know, the time-worn heart may be THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT. The prisoned thrush may brook the cage, 'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound! And the knight looked down from the Paynim's tower, And a Christian host in its pride and power, "I knew 'twas a trumpet's note! And I see my brethren's lances gleam, And their pennons wave by the mountain stream, And their plumes to the glad wind float! Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice-be still! "I am here, with my heavy chain! And I look on a torrent sweeping by, And an eagle rushing to the sky, And a host, to its battle-plain! THE KAISER'S FEAST. Louis, Emperor of Germany, having put his brother, the Palsgrave Rodolphus, under the ban of the empire, (in the 12th century,) that unfortunate Prince fled to England, where he died in neglect and poverty. "After his decease, his mother, Matilda, privately invited his children to return to Germany; and by her mediation, during a season of festivity, when Louis kept wassail in the Castle of Heidelberg, the family of his brother presented themselves before him in the garb of suppliants, imploring pity and forgiveness. To this appeal the victor softened."-Miss Benger's Memoirs of the Queen of Bohemia. THE Kaiser feasted in his hall, The red wine mantled high; Banners were trembling on the wall, To the peals of minstrelsy: And many a gleam and sparkle came From the armour hung around, As it caught the glance of the torch's flame, Or the hearth with pine boughs crowned. Why fell there silence on the chord Beneath the harper's hand? The strings were hushed-the knights made way Two fair-haired boys she led. She led them e'en to the Kaiser's place, Flushed the proud warrior-blood: Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice-be still!" "Must I pine in my fetters here? With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight, And the tall spears glancing on my sight, Well may a mourning vest be mine, And theirs, my son, my son! Look on the features of thy line In each fair little one! Though grief awhile within their eyes Hath tamed the dancing glee, Yet there thine own quick spirit liesThy brother's children see? Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill, Cease! let them hear the captive's voice-be still!" "They are gone! they have all passed by! They in whose wars I had borne my part, They that I loved with a brother's heart, They have left me here to die! Sound again, clarion! Clarion pour thy blast! Sound! for the captive's dream of hope is past." And where is he, thy brother, where? He, in thy home that grew, And smiling, with his sunny hair, Ever to greet thee flew? How would his arms thy neck entwine, His fond lips press thy brow! My son! oh, call these orphans thineThou hast no brother now! "What! from their gentle eyes doth nought Speak of thy childhood's hours, And smite thee with a tender thought Of thy dead father's towers? Kind was thy boyish heart and true, When reared together there, Through the old woods like fawns ye flew— Where is thy brother-where? "Well didst thou love him then, and he Still at thy side was seen! How is it that such things can be, As though they n'er had been? Evil was this world's breath, which came Between the good and brave! Now must the tears of grief and shame Be offered to the grave. "And let them, let them there be poured! Though all unfelt below, Thine own wrung heart, to love restored, Oh! death is mighty to make peace; So many an inward strife shall cease Take, take these babes, my son!" His eye was dimmed-the strong man shook With feelings long suppressed; Up in his arms the boys he took, And strained them to his breast. And a shout from all in the royal hall Burst forth to hail the sight; And eyes were wet, midst the brave that met At the Kaiser's feast that night. ULLA, OR THE ADJURATION. Yet speak to me! I have outwatched the stars, And gazed o'er heaven in vain, in search of thee. Speak to me! I have wandered o'er the earth, And never found thy likeness.-Speak to me This once-once more! Manfred. "THOU 'RT gone!-thou 'rt slumbering low, With the sounding seas above thee; But a haunting dream to love thee! The white spray up in showers. There's a shadow of the grave on thy hearth, and round thy home; Come to me from the ocean's dead!-thou 'rt surely of them-come!" Come to me from the ocean's dead-by the vows we pledged arise !" Again she gazed with an eager glance, She saw but the sparkling waters dance "By the slow and struggling death Of despair on youth's high heart; By all that from my weary soul thou hast wrung of grief and fear, Come to me from the ocean's dead-awake, arise, appear!" Was it her yearning spirit's dream, Or did a pale form rise, And o'er the hushed wave glide and gleam What was thy tale?-Oh! gentle mate "Have the depths heard?-they have! My voice prevails-thou 'rt there, Dim from thy watery grave, Oh! thou that wert so fair! Yet take me to thy rest! There dwells no fear with love; Let me slumber on thy breast, While the billows roll above! Where the long-lost things lie hid, where the bright ones have their home, We will sleep among the ocean's dead-stay for me, stay!-I come!" There was a sullen plunge below, A flashing on the main, And the wave shut o'er that wild heart's wo, Shut-and grew still again. THE EFFIGIES. Der rasche Kampf verewigt einen Mann: Goethe. Of him, the bold and free, Bound unto his victorious fate, What bard hath sung of thee? He wooed a bright and suminer star- The heart-sick listening while his steed Thy silent and secluded hours Through many a lonely day, Thy weeping midnight prayers for him A still, sad life was thine!-long years Vigils of anxious thought; WARRIOR! whose image on thy tomb With shield and crested head, Sleeps proudly in the purple gloom By the stained window shed; A banner, from its flashing spear And strong to turn the flight; On for the holy shrine; A haughty heart and a kingly glanceChief! were not these things thine: A lofty place where leaders sate Around the council-board; In festive halls a chair of state When the blood-red wine was poured Woman! whose sculptured form at rest A word-scarce noted in its hour perchance, Full of sweet meanings now from this world flown; Are not these mysteries when to life they start, And the far wanderings of the soul in dreams, And the strange inborn sense of coming ill, Darkly we move-we press upon the brink Haply of viewless worlds, and know it not; Yes! it may be, that nearer than we think, Are those whom death has parted from our lot! Fearfully, wondrously, our souls are madeLet us walk humbly on, but undismayed! Humbly-for knowledge strives in vain to feel Her way amidst these marvels of the mind; Yet undismayed-for do they not reveal Th' immortal being with our dust entwined? So let us deem! and e'en the tears they wake Shall then be blest, for that high nature's sake. THE PALM-TREE.* IT waved not through an Eastern sky, It was not fanned by southern breeze But fair the exiled Palm-tree grew Strange looked it there!-the willow streamed And showers of snowy roses made A lustre in its fan-like shade. There came an eve of festal hours- But one, a lone one, midst the throng, And slowly, sadly, moved his plumes, WHAT wak'st thou, Spring?-sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee Ev'n as our hearts may be. |