They rise, and all the wood explore,
And right and left they wind them;
Duke Milon boldly rode before
And Roland rode behind him.
Unto the spot they came amain,
Where by the hand of Roland slain,
The giant in his blood lay.
Young Roland looked, the giant's head,
His hand, no more were found there;
'Tis strange, he thought, I know I laid
Them both upon the ground there.
No more I see his sword, his spear,
No more his shield, his corslet here,
His trunk alone lies bleeding.
Duke Milon saw the trunk, quoth he,
The instant he beheld it,
This must have been a goodly tree
Before the lightning felled it.
It is the giant, sooth to say,
Mine honour I have slept away,
And ever must bewail it!'
Before the palace-door one day King Charlemain was sitting; 'What keeps my lordlings brave, they stay Much longer than is fitting. Yet, as I live, one cometh near, 'Tis Heimon, and upon his spear The giant's head he beareth.'
Sir Heimon deep obeisance made,
Full sad and melancholy,
And at his liege-lord's feet he laid
The giant's head full lowly.
'I found this head far in the wood,
And saw the huge trunk drenched in blood,
Some fifty paces further.'
Next came the Archbishop Turpin,
(There scarce had passed a minute,)
And in his hand a glove was seen,
The giant's hand was in it.
'I bring thee, sire, a relic rare,
The giant's hand with hide and hair;
I bring it as I found it.'
Next came Duke Naims-his shoulders broad Upbore the giant's cudgel;
From dark Ardennes with such a load
I ween he did not trudge ill.
In sooth, liege-lord, my work is hard,
A glass of beer be my reward,
A glass of good Bavarian !
Count Richard came a-foot-his horse
Came with its weary lord too,
It bore the giant's heavy corse-
let and his heavy sword too.
'Whoso will seek within the wood,
Shall find more armour strong and good,
What I could bring I brought it.'
Next with the shield Graf Garin came,
And in the distance waved it;
'He has the shield, he has the gem,
His happy hand has saved it!'-
'Good sirs, 'tis true the shield is mine,
But where the gem is may divine
Some God, 'tis more than I can.'
Then in the distance came to view
Milon, he rode full slowly;
He hung his head as mourners do,
He hung his head full lowly.
Young Roland travelled at his side
And bore his heavy spear with pride,
And eke his heavy buckler.
But when, where Charles a-waiting stood,
With all his lords, they enter,
Young Roland from the buckler screwed
The boss that graced its centre;
And in its stead the gem so bright
He placed; it shed a flood of light
Around, like very sun-beams.
And while the gem with magic blaze
Upon the shield was burning,
Quoth Charlemain, in glad amaze,
Unto his lordlings turning:
'My brave Duke Milon bears the bell,
His hand hath slain the giant fell,
His hand the gem hath taken.'
The duke had turn'd, and saw the light
That clearer shone and clearer,
'What may this mean, thou little wight,
Thou tricksy armour-bearer?'
'Dear father, make me not to rue
That I the clumsy monster slew,
The while that you were sleeping!'
In the following piece-an allegorical sketch of the rise, decline, and revival of German literature-there is also much ease, cheerfulness, and a faint blink of humour:
There was a lovely lady, the tale ye know full well,
That many a hundred year slept within a woody dell,
But how that lady hight was, I wot well, know not ye;
I only knew it lately-'tis 'German Poesy.'
Two mighty queens of Fairie the princely infant sought,
And to its smiling cradle rich birth-day gifts they brought;
The first she spake full smartly, Smile, infant, while thou may!
A speedy end I give thee, a spindle shall thee slay.'
The other spake full sweetly, 'Yes, smile and smile alway!
The blessing that I give thee shall charm black Death away;
My blessing shall preserve thee in slumber sweet,' she spake,
'Till years four hundred pass, when a king's son shall thee wake.'
A stern command was publish'd both far and near that day,
And whoso disobeyed it with life his crime should pay;
The stern command was published to dames in house and hall,
To burn in public bonfire their spindles great and small.
The child grew strong and healthy, not nurtured fond was she
In gentle ladies' chambers where spindles use to be;
No! in the rosy gardens, in forests fresh and free,
With merry laughing playmates, there fresh and strong grew she.
And with her years advancing a lovely dame she grew,
With flowing golden ringlets and eyes of deepest blue;
Chaste was her every motion, her every word was true,
Each maiden handicraft well, save spindle-work, she knew.
Full many a haughty Ritter did to her train belong,
Heinrich von Ofterdingen and Wolfram, sons of song;
They went in iron and steel clad, with golden harps in hand;
Right happy was the princess that could such knights command.
To shield her stood they waiting in arms both night and day,
And sang to win her favour full many a rival lay;
They sang of gentle Minne, of battle's bold array-
They sang of knights and ladies, and of sweet bloomy May.
From ancient cities' ramparts the merry echo ran,
The sons of plain and mountain a gleesome song began.
The shepherd on the height sung, as mid the clouds he went,
And from the miner's dark home a merry voice was sent.
One May-night when the starlets were shining bright and clear,
And seemed to say, 'Fair lady, come up and meet us here,'
The lady clomb the turret high, she clomb up all alone,
Where in a narrow chamber a flickering light there shone.
There sat a grey-haired old dame, her wheel full loudly birred;
The law against the spindles, I ween she ne'er had heard.
The princess, who had never yet seen the spinning trade,
Came in, and 'With permission, whom see I here?' she said.
'My name, since you must know, is Blue-Stocking Poesy,
Beyond my study's thick walls did none me ever see;
I have a blind old gib-cat that sits upon my knee,
And helps to spin the threads of Blue-Stocking Poesy.
< Long, long didactic poems to heal your moral sores,
And goodly hempen epics, I reel you off by scores;
My cat has tragic mewing, my wheel has epic fire,
And comedy my spindle plays to your heart's desire.'
My spindle!' shook the princess, and pale grew at the name,
She sprang away full deftly, the spindle after came;
She fell upon the threshold-had ceased to birr the wheel,
Behind her came the spindle and pricked her on the heel.
Alack! alack! to-morrow how many wail and weep!
In vain they try to wake her from out her magic sleep;
Around her couch are waiting her knights in dire distress,
And gold and silver deck it, and roses numberless.
Thus slept the lovely princess yclad in rich array,
Anon the knights around her in like deep slumber lay;
The minstrels in their dreamings still touched their trembling lyres,
Till in the castle's wide halls the last faint tone expires.
The grey-haired dame sat spinning within her chamber lone,
With her the busy spiders kept spin and spinning on:
Around the princely windows the tangled wild wood grew,
And through the cloudy sky shone no spot of sunny blue.
Four hundred years passed over, the king's son brave and good,
Came with his merry hunters a-hunting through the wood;
'What is this ancient castle, what turrets do I see,
That through the tufted forest rise strange and solemnly?'
Close by the road was standing an ancient spindleman :
'List, great prince, while I warn thee, as warn thee best I can! Barbaric knights romantic, fell Anthropophagi,
That castle lone inhabit, great prince, be warned by me!"
Not mickle recked the king's son the ancient spindleman,
He and his merry hunters to hew their way began ;
They passed the waiting drawbridge, the gate wide open lay,
A stag sprang out and left them a free unhindered way.
The castle's spacious court was as wild as native wood,
And on the fresh green trees sung the birds in merry mood;
The huntsmen press them onwards, their heart is full of glee,
Till through the bosky shade thick the pillared door they see.
Two giant-shapes lay sleeping beside that pillared door,
They held their halberds crosswise the entrance wide before;
Still fearless press them onwards the hunters one and all,
And go with steady paces into the castle hall.
In lofty niches lying all rich yclad were seen,
Full many lovely ladies, and minstrel-knights between ;
In solemn beauty sleeping, they moved nor hand nor head,
Like statued forms that watch o'er the tombs of ancient dead.
And in the middle rose up a gold-embroidered lair,
There rich yclad lay sleeping a virgin wondrous fair ;
With roses fresh and blooming that lovely maid was dight,
And round her rosy cheeks played a tender rosy light.
Much marvelled the king's son if living she might be,
And with a wistful kiss twice her rosy mouth pressed he;
He felt it with rejoicing, her breath was sweet and warm,
And tenderly she clasped him, yet sleeping, with her arm.
Her golden ringlets flowing from off her face she threw,
And lifted, sweetly startled, her eyes of lovely blue;
Straight in the niches rose up the knights and ladies all,
The ancient songs awoke loud, and shook the princely hall.
A morning rich and golden hath brought us back the May,
The prince hath led his daughter forth to the blithesome day;
The ancient Minnesingers march solemnly along,
Like spirit-shapes gigantic they sing their solemn song.
The valleys at the sound shake their drowsy dreams away,
And wake in youthful bosom the spark that sleeping lay;
Blest be the morn,' they shout all, in merry jubilee,
That brought us back our long lost, our German Poesy!'
The ancient lady sitteth within her chamber lone,
And through the roof the rain drops her hoary head upon;
An apoplectic shock sad took all her strength away,
May God to her be gracious until the judgment-day!"
We think we have now been sufficiently copious in our translations to give the English reader-so far as such an imperfect medium admits-a pretty correct idea of the general character and style of Uhland's poems. Perhaps some may be inclined to express surprise how works, by no means characterized by any peculiar originality of conception, or grasp of mind, should have attained such a wide-spread popularity as to have run through
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