the scene of some great catastrophe or other remarkable event. I hoped to obtain information on this subject from the priest at the parsonage of the contiguous village of Solden, where I experienced the kindest reception, but was referred to the archives of the neighbouring hospice. I took the trouble to turn over the not very copious collection of manuscripts, and, among several legends, I met with the following, which, on account of the date, the name of Unda, and the popular tradition, I could not help applying to this rude mausoleum. When the emperor Frederic Barbarossa kept his court at Wimpfen on the Necker, there lived at that place Unda von Wangen, an orphan adorned with all the charmes of youth, beauty, and innocence. Henry of Neiden, one of the first nobles of the court, saw her by accident, conceived a passion for her, and from that moment never ceased to persecute her with his importunities. Peremptorily as she rejected the coarse advances of the knight, he was not to be daunted. One evening, in a fit of inebriety, he penetrated to her apartment, and would have clasped her in his arms, but slipping from his grasp, she darted down stairs with the speed of a chased deer. The knight followed, but his limbs refused their office; he fell in descending the stairs; his dagger, being displaced by the shock, pierced his breast, and he was found weltering in his blood. The weak, the delicate Unda was accused of his murder. The emperor was enraged at the loss of his favourite; and Unda, who protested her innocence, having no other witnesses but God and her own conscience, was doomed to die. Justice seems to have been in those days tolerably rapid in its movements, and to have begun with execution and finished with an investigation of the alleged crime. On this point, however, the legend merely intimates that she was made acquainted with the sentence. At this ceremony, Frederic of Reifenstein, who had been sent to the emperor's court by his uncle, the bishop of Trent, had an opportunity of seeing the fair Unda. He was captivated by her beauty, enchanted by the innocence of her look and demeanor, and deeply affected by her melancholy fate. He vowed within himself to save her. But a few hours were left for the accomplishment of his design. He bribed the guards, procured the keys of the prison-how, my legend does not explain and at midnight bore off the fainting Unda, who imagined that she was to be led forth to die. Consigned her to the care of his faithful Bertram, he ordered him to convey her to his castle of Naturns, in the Vintschgau. He himself remained for some time at court as if nothing had happened; he then returned to his uncle, and flew to Naturns to receive the thanks of the lovely Unda. Bertram had meanwhile conducted the lady in safety to the castle, and delivered her into the hands of the aged Buda, who had been the knight's nurse, and whose assiduous attentions and kindness dried her tears and silenced her apprehensions. The gratitude which she felt towards her deliverer was soon changed by the old woman's praises of her master into a warmer feeling. Frederic arrived. My legend says not a word about raptures, or love: nor is it till seven years afterwards that I find Unda again mentioned as a wife and the mother of several blooming children. This brings us to the precise period when, Pope No. XXXII.-VOL. III. Urban III. having died of fright and grief on receiving the melancholy tidings of the conquest of Jerusalem by the great Sultan Saladin, his successor Celestine III. summoned all the princes of the West to the rescue of the holy city from the hands of the Infidels. The kings of England and France, with the bravest of their nobles, and the great emperor Frederic Barbarossa, at the head of the flower of German Chivalry, obeyed the call. Reifenstein, with his men at arms, prepared to join the latter. Unda, bathed in tears and filled with sinister presentiments, strained her husband to her bosom. He commended her and his children to the care of the Almighty and of his trusty castellan, Ulric of Grunsberg, tore himself from her embrace, mounted his charger, hastened to Meran, and with many of the neighbouring gentry joined the main army on the Austrian frontiers. He assisted to strike terror into the Greeks, participated in the glory of the victory over the Seldjukes, was engaged in the storming of Acre, entwined his brow with laurels, and bore several scars as tokens of his valour. Not far from the spot where the cold waters of the Cydnus had well nigh caused the death of Alexander the great, the emperor Frederie perished by imprudently bathing in the equally cold and impetuous Saleph. His second son, of the same name, conducted the troops further into the Holy Land, and took part in the siege of Acre, where many soldiers and persons of distinction fell. Our Frederic's brave band too was reduced to a very small number, and, as the discord which divided the princes and the army prevented further progress, he prepared, just at the moment of the arrival of a fresh body of warriors, to return to his country and to his family. Unda lived meanwhile in close retirement in the castle of Naturns, and shed many bitter tears on account of her beloved consort, attending mass twice a day, and offering up ardent prayers to Heaven for the speedy return of her beloved Frederic. Ulric taught the boys to ride in the castle-yard, while the lady Unda instructed the girls in the innermost bower, and thus the time passed slowly and sadly away. On the festival of St. Corbinian, Unda, in fulfilment of a vow. repaired to Mais, and, after performing her devotions in the chapel dedicated to that saint, rested herself in the shade of the lofty chesnut-tree which overhung it, contemplating, beside the salutary spring, the beautiful prospect presented by the surrounding country. Meek and pious as she was, Unda nevertheless had, unknown to herself, a most malignant foe. Hermgard, the wife of Rudolph of Vilenzano, had once cherished hopes of obtaining the hand of Frederic. He preferred Unda, and Hermgard, in despair, united herself with Rudolph, with whom she led a miserable life. She accused Unda as the author of her wretchedness, conceived the bitterest hatred against her, and vowed signal revenge. The tidings of her happiness only. served to strengthen this vile passion, which was continually receiving fresh food from her own unfortunate situation. Her dark spirit did not meditate murder ; she sought a species of revenge of slower but equally fatal operation; she wished to enjoy the gratification of seeing her hated rival pining under a protracted decay. Long had she waited for an opportunity: the favourable moment seemed now to have arrived. She too had gone on the same day to Mais, not indeed to o 2 perform religious duties; but, inquisitive respecting every movement of Unda's, she had gained information of her intended journey, and it was only on such an occasion that she could see her, for Ulric cautiously guarded the entrance to Naturns, and his mistress never ventured beyond the precincts of the castle. With syren look and speech she approached the pious pilgrim, whom Ulric had been prevented by illness from attending; she was overjoyed at having at last an opportunity of making the personal acquaintance of the noble lady of Reifenstein, described herself as a juvenile playmate of her Frederic's, pretended that she had at home a palmer, who had brought news from the Holy Land, and invited her to call as she returned at the castle of Thurstein, situated near the high-road. The virtuous Unda, suspecting no harm, and burning with desire to question the palmer, who had perhaps seen her husband, accepted the invitation, on which Hermgard parted from her with an hypocritical embrace and a triumphant heart. After the pilgrim had finished her devotions, and fulfilled her vow by founding a yearly mass at the shrine of the saint, she hastened with her Bertha, an infant two years of age, to her new friend, impatient for the wished-for tidings. The lady of Vilenzano met her with demonstrations of joy in the court-yard, conducted her into the castle, and promised to introduce her to the palmer. Scarcely had Unda entered with a heart throbbing with expectation, when Hermgard suddenly changed her tone. "Have I thee in my power at last, traitress," cried she, inflamed with rage; "have I thee in my power at last to satiate my long repressed revenge! Many years of sorrow and sadness have I passed; it is now thy turn to pass as many. A slow poison shall consume thy life, and despair shall be thy lot! Now chuse between the death of this infant"-she had meanwhile caught up the child, and pointed a dagger to its breast-" or an oath from which no priest shall release thee, never more to embrace thy husband, but to repulse him from thy heart, that thou mayst experience in thy turn the torture which thou hast prepared for me. Chuseswear or thy child has not another moment to live." Vain were the prayers and entreaties of the halffainting Unda to be spared the cruel oath; maternal affection finally overcame every other feeling. Hold!" cried she to her tormentor, who had already raised her arm to strike "hold, I will swear." Upon the host, which a confederate of the wretch, in the habit of a priest, handed to her, she swore the horrid oath, which was to embitter all her joys, to destroy the happiness of her whole life. "Now," said Hermgard to her, with a malicious sneer, now mayst thou enjoy if thou canst the society of thy loving husband, who is not far off-such at least is the message which the pious palmer was to bring thee; fot the same ship conveyed them both from the Holy Land to Cyprus, where Reifenstein was detained for some time. Thou mayst now return to thy castle as soon as thou wilt." With these words she conducted Unda more dead than alive into the fore-court, where an old servant, who had attended the lady on her pilgrimage, was waiting for her. Silent, and scarcely conscious of what was passing around her, she arrived at the castle, clasping little Bertha closely to her bosom, as if apprehensive lest she should be again snatched from her embrace. Frederic had meanwhile arrived at the island of Cyprus, which king Guy, on being driven from Jerusalem, had purchased of the English monarch, Richard Cœur de Lion. A gloomy presentiment urged him to hasten his departure, but he was obliged to stay against his will, in compliance with the especial desire of the king and Lusignan, by whom he was held in the highest esteem. Unfortunately, man cannot always act according to the impulse of his feelings. Circumstances often interpose an insuperable barrier, and permit him to advance only step by step, at a time. when the most ardent wish of his heart would impel him to an eagle's speed. At length he embarked and soon arrived at Rome, where he had letters to deliver to Pope Celestine III., and, strengthened by the blessing of his holiness, he set out for Tyrol. He flew through Italy, had already passed Meran and Partschins, and once more beheld the turrets of his castle, while his heart throbbed vehemently at the idea of meeting once more the beloved objects whom he had left behind. Two months had elapsed, and the future presented itself to Unda's imagination in darker and still darker colours. The fearful oath had stifled in her bosom every emotion of joy, and tears, bitter tears, which she had once shed only on account of her husband's absence, were now wrung from her by the thought of a meeting equally desired and dreaded. For days together she would sit silent in her bower, with her eyes fixed on the distant horizon or pursuing the winding course of the Adige, where every wave hurrying past to return no more was an emblem of her happiness which had fled for ever. Thus was she one day seated, her head supported on her hand, when a cloud of dust appeared in the distance; it approached nearer, in the direction of the castle: she recognized the plume and scarf of her husband; she rushed down the staircase; overpowered by her emotions, and forgetting the terrific oath, she sank swooning into the arms of her beloved Crusader. The first moment of returning consciousness brought with it the recollection of her heinous offence. With a shriek of anguish she tore herself from his bosom; all the horrors of her violated oath burst upon her soul, and she felt herself loaded with a curse from which she could never more be relieved. She fled to her most retired chamber, locked the door, and tore her hair and wrung her hands in an agony of despair. It was not till she had thus passed two days that, exhausted in mind and body, she listened to the entreaties of her husband soliciting admittance, and made him acquainted with the horrible story. There he stood, pale, gnashing his teeth with rage, shuddering at the artifices of malice, thunderstruck, as well at his own misfortune, as to behold in the wife of his bosom an alien and a criminal laden with the guilt of perjury. No language can describe Unda's despair. Here the husband whom she had been forced to renounce for ever-there the idea of her soul doomed beyond reprieve to eternal perdition-overpowered her senses, and chilled every drop of blood in her veins. For a whole week she lay, sometimes in speechless stupor, sometimes in frightful convulsions; till one evening, she put on a hair garment, and fled from the scene of her former happiness, forsaking husband, children, all, and pursued by the keenest pangs of remorse for her supposed crime. She proceeded to the Carthusian convent of Schnalls, and poured forth the sorrows of her heart into the bosom of the reverend prior; but it was not in his power to give her absolution. "Go, my daughter," said he, kindly to her, while the tears trickled down the deep furrows in his cheeks and fell upon his venerable beard," go and expiate thy sins with patience and resignation: I have not the power to absolve thee. Seek a solitary place, and in fasting and prayer reconcile thyself with God. In a few years, Heaven may perhaps give thee a sign whether thou mayest venture to throw thyself at the feet of his holiness and to implore pardon." After wandering for some time in the wild valleys of the neighbouring country, she at length reached the dreary tract of the upper Ortzthal: there she found a spacious cavern, in which she built a small chapel of stone; this she made her abode, moss her couch, and roots and herbs her only food. The fame of her piety soon spread abroad. She was reverenced like a beneficent divinity by the whole country. She expressed the juice of flowers and plants and cured the sick; she carried peace and consolation into every dwelling; and whoever needed her assistance had only to apply to the pious recluse. But for her own heart there was no peace, no consolation, and the tormenting thought of the curse that lay upon her soul haunted her incessantly. Her husband had meanwhile employed all possible means to find out his lost Unda: he explored all Tyrol, with the exception of that solitary spot, without discovering any traces of her. He vowed vengeance against Hermgard, but was spared the trouble of executing it, for she died miserably, and in the agonies of remorse, in consequence of the ill treatment of her brutal husband. Several years had now elapsed: care, sorrow, and vexation, threw Reifenstein upon a sick-bed; his illness lasted several months and none could afford him relief. The fame of the skill of "the pious woman"-for so she was called-in the healing art had by this time reached the Vintschgau. The knight sent his son, who was approaching the years of manhood, to consult her. Without asking his name, she made enquiries concerning the nature of the complaint, and gave him a potion with which Otto hastened home to his sick father. Frederic took it and recovered. Otto, and his blooming sister Ottilia, resolved to perform a pilgrimage to their benefactress to express their gratitude. Unda received them kindly, but, without speaking, extended her hand to the portrait which Ottilia wore suspended from a gold chain at her bosom. 66 "How came you by this portrait?" eagerly enquired she. "It is the likeness,” replied Ottilia, of my dear, but alas! long lost mother."-Daughter! son! mother! were the exclamations that burst from them as they rushed into each other's embrace. Their transport was unbounded. Ottilia declared that she would never more leave her mother, and Otto conjured the latter to go back with them to their father. "No," said she, "I dare not see your father, till my guilt is completely expiated, and an avenging God fully appeased. Go, then, my children, entreat your father to consult the venerable bishop Conrad, as to what I have still to do to reconcile myself with the Almighty: I may not yet venture to appear before his sacred vicegerent." Otto hastened home with his sister, for her mother would on 46 no account suffer her to remain in so wild and solitary a retreat, and acquainted his father with the joyful tidings. Both flew to trent, to the pious Bishop, who referred them to Pope Innoceut III., a pontiff distinguished for benevolence and kindness, who had been elevated in the flower of his age to the papal chair, and was just then paying a visit to Arigo Dandolo, the aged doge of Venice. Frederic repaired to that famous city, knelt before the pope, expatiated on the long years of suffering and sorrow endured by Unda and by himself, and implored his holiness to give back to him a wife, and to his children a mother. Innocent was deeply moved; he annulled the oath extorted by force, and, for the sake of her long penance and her good works, he acquitted her of the guilt of perjury, and granted her full and complete absolution, on condition that Frederic should build a convent. He ordered a bull confirming these grants to be prepared. Reifenstein and his son gratefully kissed the feet of his holiness, and, overjoyed at their success, hastened home with the utmost expedition. In the mean time, the other children, instigated by filial affection, set out to pay a visit to their mother. The rapture of all was beyond description. Sometimes. it was expressed in the long silent embrace; at others it burst forth in loud congratulations. Ottilia informed her mother that her father and brother were gone to his holiness, and the first spark of hope glimmered in Unda's bosom. She had now with her four of her children, Ottilia, Rupert, Albert, and Bertha---the same Bertha, for whose sake she had taken the horrid oath which had embittered her whole life. At this moment she forgot much of her suffering, and regarded this reunion as a sign of the renewal of the favour of the Almighty. The rest of the day passed in affectionate converse, as they sat lovingly together at the entrance of the cavern. Evening arrived-the sun at times darted his rays through the majestic larches and pines; more and more faintly did they tinge the summits of the distant mountains, till these were at length wholly enveloped in a mantle of sable clouds. Nothing but the roaring of the neighbouring torrent and the crash of descending avalanches interrupted the stillness and repose of Nature. Night came on: murky clouds suddenly began to collect on all sides; vivid flashes of lightning issued from them; and the tempest raged with appalling fury. Fatigued with their journey and the vehemence of their emotions, the children had retired to their couch of moss, and slept soundly, while the mother alone, prostrate before the image of the Redeemer, poured forth her soul in prayer. A tremendous clap of thunder shook the cavern; she trembled, sprang up, and ran to her children, to see if they were safe; a second shock followed; the subterraneous abode was filled with sulphureous flames; the roof fell in and buried the unfortunate Unda and her beloved children beneath the ruins. On the very same day, Reifenstein and his eldest son reached Meran. Without stopping, they hastened onward by the shorter route, through the wild but beautiful vale of Passeier, celebrated for its romantic scenery, and its robust race of inhabitants; they determined to cross a difficult and dangerous mountain, that they might be a few hours earlier in the arms of wife and mother. Evening arrived, but still they hurried on by paths hewn in the rocks, across an endless succession of bridges, where one false step would be attended with inevitable destruction, over immense blocks of marble which frequently seemed to bar their further progress, and loose stones which rolled from under their feet. It was pitch-dark night when they reached the lake of Passeier. They found no track along the lake, either to the right or the left: all the roads had been destroyed by avalanches. It was only by means of the lightning that they discovered a boat near the shore of the agitated lake; they leaped into it without further consideration, and pushed off in order to to reach the opposite shore without loss of time. The passage is short, but extremely dangerous, on account of the sudden tempests to which this lake is liable, and which cause its waves to break with fury against the perpendicular cliffs around it. On this occasion all the elements were against them. One moment their frail boat was whirled on the crest of a mountain-billow; at another it was plunged into the depths of the dark abyss. Exhausted with the long and useless conflict, both at length dropped their oars; a blast of unprecedented violence, upset the boat, and buried them in the bosom of the deep. Eight days afterwards the bodies, firmly clasped in each other's arms, were cast on shore. The faithful Ulric conveyed them to the remains of Unda and her children, and one sepulchre now unites in death those whose melancholy fate it was to be separated in life, and whom Providence removed thus early from the joys and sorrows of this imperfect world to the regions of everlasting peace. Deeply sympathizing in the fate of the virtuous Unda and her family, I cauld not forbear paying another visit to this dreary spot. I was accompanied by the priest, who acquainted me with the cause of the erection of the modern crosses. In the year 1775, in the same tempestuous night, when the above-mentioned lake of Pesseier burst its banks, and many human lives and a large tract of country were sacrificed to its fury, seven persons sought refuge in this cavern from the vehemence of the storm. They, too, like the Reifenstein family, were struck by lightning, and buried under masses of rock. By this last convulsion the cavern has been almost entirely filled up, and a mausoleum, such as is not to be paralleled elsewhere, covers the remains of those who repose beneath it. CORRUPTIONS OF THE HIGHER CLERGY. "Woe to you Prelates! rioting in ease And cumbrous wealth-the shame of your estate; WORDSWORTH. A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. FROM THE GERMAN OF VON LOEBEN. There where yon rocks are sleeping, A Nymph her watch is keeping, She looks upon the river, As the vessels glide alongShe sings and gazes ever, But, Youth! beware her song. With eyes so softly beaming, But, like the inconstant water, For the wave is false and cold! Thus sang an old huntsman, who had seated himself on a rock which impended over the Rhine, not far from the cave where, in ancient times, the holy hermit, St. Goar, had taken up his abode, and effected the conversion of the neighbouring fishermen. The waves, as they rushed past, bore swiftly along with them a small slight bark, in which sat a youth clothed in costly apparel. The boat was just speeding to the dangerous whirlpool, called the Bank, where the steersman is driven to the exercise of his utmost skill, to retain any command over his vessel. Yet the youth heeded not the dangers of his situation, nor turned away his gaze from a dark frowning rock, from whence a fair but unearthly maiden looked down, and seemed to smile upon him. The old huntsman now sang louder and louder, for he could not help fancying that the poor youth had set out to visit his true-love, and had been bewitched by the sight of the water-fairy, Lorely. Lute, bow, and rudder had all escaped from his hold; his hat, with its white plume, hung only by a ribbon around his neck, and he seemed to abandon himself to the rushing and raging waters, as though he delighted in their fury, and waited till they should have risen sufficiently high to bear him up the rock. The huntsman might have sung yet louder, and the whirlpool might have risen to overpower him with their roar, yet still not one single word would have reached the object of his warning; for he heard and saw nothing but the beautiful nymph, who, seated on the rock above him, was engaged in picking up little pieces of glittering stone, as though she were gathering flowers, and, anon, gaily scattering them in the water, and leaning over its shades to watch them sink down, and disappear in sparkling foam-bells. It seemed to her victim that it was to him she was leaning and smiling, and he stretched out his arms with a longing look, and stood as if gazing on a far-off star; when all at onee his little bark was dashed with a shattering stroke on the sharp stones, and the vortex dragged him to its raging gulf, and closed its gigantic arms above his struggling form. All was now over with the hapless youth. He never rose again. But Lorely looked down with a careless and even sportive glance, gathered fresh splinters from the rock, and smiled like a child through her long hair. It was now that the huntsman drew forth his horn, and blew a shrill blast, that brought his dogs howling to his feet, and with them attracted to the spot some fishermen, who were spreading their nets at a little distance off. But no aid could avail to rescue the devoted victim from the eddying waters. ་ Did you see,' asked the old man, as he stepped into the fishermen's boat, ' how the sorceress rejoiced at the death of the poor youth, and how gladly she listened to the waves that engulphed him, and foamed and hissed above his head, as though they were mocking his love and folly?' But a young fisher replied, What had the maiden on the rock to do with it, if the rash boy chose to fix his eyes on her, instead of keeping them carefully on the current? It was not she who drove him towards the whirlpool, but he himself who was the cause of the catastrophe.' They then went on to tell how the beautiful fairy would often appear to them, towards evening, close to the shore, and look so sweet and kind, and point out places for them to throw their nets, where they never failed to be enriched with a plentiful draught. But if,' continued the fisherman, any one should offer to approach her, (as who would not, when she is so good and beautiful?) she grows angry, and disappears like a vapour. Whether she flies up to the clouds, or sinks down to the deep, is more than we can tell, and nobody knows who or what she really is. The old huntsman shook his head, and went on his way towards Bacharach, through the darkening twilight. Not far from thence lay Stahleck, a castle inhabited by the Palatine of the Rhine. Many a tale had reached his court, about the wonderful maiden, who, from time to time, was wont to exhibit herself on the rock; but no one of the Palatine's household had ever seen her, and the Count would always repress their inquisitiveness, and tell them, that those from whom God was pleased to withhold the sight of such ministers of evil, ought to be thankful and contented, and not allow themselves to indulge in such idle and unprofitable curiosity. The Palatine's son was a young and beautiful boy, so beautiful that it seemed as if the spring had sent him forth for its messenger, and as if life turned to spring wherever he looked and smiled. Often had he bent his longing eyes towards the spot which was the origin of these wonderful stories, and from whence only the commands of his parents restrained his eager steps; for they had themselves remarked, and heard from his playmates and companions in the chase, how completely his mind and thoughts were occupied with the idea of the fair enchantress. All he had ever heard of her was treasured up carefully in his memory, and her image was constantly present to his imagination, arrayed in all its brightness and beauty. In fancy, he beheld her, lonely as she was reclining on her wild rock, beneath the setting sun, or the pale moon, and warbling sweet music to the solitary Rhine. On the evening already referred to, Hubert (such was the young Count's name) was sitting with his sister Una on a pleasant slope of the green mountain, called the Kühlberg, just opposite the Voigtsberg, where the costliest grapes ripen in profusion beneath the genial sunshine. There they had lingered, watching the boats gliding along the river, or the reflections in the water of many a well-known spot, now mirrored in joyous light, and now hidden in gloomy shadow. For some time they had conversed together, and talked over many a fairy legend, but now they sat silently gazing on the waves, with their hands clasped in each others'. To Una, Hubert had confided all his secret sorrows; and when his sighs were wafted towards the cloudy distance that veiled with its blue vapors the far-stretching mountains of the Rhine, she well knew whither those sighs were directed. All was now hushed-the trees waved gently to and fro, as if rocking themselves to sleep; the wild pinks and violets that peeped here and there from among the rocks, had closed their sweet eyes, and no sound was heard but the mountain rills, which seemed to murmur music in their dreams. The trees and shrubs in the foreground glowed with a thousand hues, while the stately forests which rose in the distance waved in ruddy gold, and after a while the moon arose from behind a neighbouring summit, like the Genius of Fairy-land itself, and shed a witching light over the scene. That is Loreley's voice,' suddenly exclaimed Hubert, yonder she sits and smiles. Didst thou not hear her strain? Seldom does a bird sing thus sweetly beneath the moon-light.' Una arose hastily and alarmed, Come, brother,' cried she, it is time you should conduct me home; and we must not again stay so long and so lonesomely on this precipice, for, indeed it terrifies me to see you thus.' They now returned to the castle; and Una, hand in hand with her brother, and dreading the expected reproof of her mother, entered the hall where her parents were sitting, according to their evening custom. The company were discoursing of Loreley, and of the strange story of her enchantments, which had just reached the castle. Hubert lent an attentive ear to every word that was spoken. 6 If she be a witch,' said the knight Ruthard, she ought most certainly to be burned, though she were as beautiful as that bright evening star. Hubert sighed, and leaning fondly over the Count's chair, Father,' cried he, send me to take her, for I fear her not. If she be a sorceress, I will give her up to you, but if you find no fault in her, and that she has never willingly injured any one, promise to give her me to wife. At this the whole company could scarcely refrain from laughing, and the Palatine replied,' From what we hear of this Loreley, she seems to be a skilful fisher, and spreads her glittering nets so artfully, that she entraps every thing which swims within her reach; you, my son, are a young and innocent little fish, that had bet ter keep out of the way of her snares. Youth is often led by curiosity, and by mere prohibition, to desire things, which once attained, lose all their charms, and are speedily thrown aside' If this unearthly creature be not a sorceress,' pursued the chaplain,' she may probably be a mermaid, and with such beings man should seek no fellowship. God has created them for another element, and placed enmity between them and the human race, and woe be to him who seeks to pass the bounds which nature herself has prescribed.' 6 Ay, we have stories enough,' pursued Ruthard, of the ill-fortune of such kind of love adventurers; and, for my part, I do not see what should hinder us from hunting down like a wild beast such a creature as this, who lies in wait, end spreads her snares, to allure man to his destruction. |