Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest

By the hawk frighted.
"Bright in her father's hall,
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chaunting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand

To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion langhed,
And as the wind-gusts waft

The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep-drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child,

I but a Viking wild,

And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!

Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,-
Fairest of all was she

Among the Norsemen!

When on the white-sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the dusty Skaw So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beaten to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to leeward;

There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking sea-ward.
"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother:

Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,

The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
O death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars

My soul ascended;

There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"*
-Thus the tale ended.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

IT was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailor,

Had sailed the Spanish main,

"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the North-east;

The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither!

my little

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, Oh, say, what may it be?"

""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns,
Oh, say, what may it be?"
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"

"O father, I see a gleaming light,
Oh, say, what may it be?"

But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.

*In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleamings now On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ;

And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave
On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between

A sound came from the land;

It was the sound of the trampling serf,
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side,
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair,

Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. [The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the "shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart., of Eden Hall, Cumberland, and is not so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it.]

OF Edenhall, the youthful Lord
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call;
He rises at the banquet board,

And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all,
"Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!""
The butler hears the words with pain,
The house's oldest seneschal,
Takes slow from its silken cloth again
The drinking glass of crystal tall;
They call it The Luck of Edenhall.

Then said the Lord, "This glass to praise,
Fill with red wine from Portugal!"

The gray-beard with trembling hand obeys:
A purple light shines over all,

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.
Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light,
"This glass of flashing crystal tall
Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite.
She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall,
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!
"Twas right a goblet the Fate shoula be
Of the joyous race of Edenhall!
Deep draughts drink we right willingly;
And willingly ring, with merry call,
Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"

First rings it deep, and full and mild,
Like to the song of a nightingale ;
Then like the roar of a torrent wild;
Then mutters at last like the thunders fall,
The glorious Luck of Edenhall.

"For its keeper takes a race of might,
The fragile goblet of crystal tall;
It has lasted longer than is right;

Kling! klang!-with a harder blow than all
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"

As the goblet ringing flies apart,
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall
And through the rift the wild flames start;
The guests in dust are scattered all.
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!
In storms the foe, with fire and sword;
He in the night had scaled the wall,
Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord,
But holds in his hand the crystal tall,
The shattered Luck of Edenhall.

On the morrow the butler gropes alone,
The gray-beard in the desert hall,
He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton,
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.

"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside
Down must the stately columns fall;
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride;
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball
One day like the Luck of Edenhall!"

THE ELECTED KNIGHT.

FROM THE DANISH.

[The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's "Danske Viser" of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in the translation.] SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain,

Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, But never, ah never, can meet with the man A tilt with him dare ride.

He saw under the hill-side

A Knight full well equipped;
His steed was black, his helm was barred;
He was riding at full speed.

He wore upon his spurs

Twelve little golden birds;

Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,
And there sat all the birds and sang.

He wore upon his mail

Twelve little golden wheels

Anon in eddies the wild wind blew,

And round and round the wheels they flew.

He wore before his breast

A lance that was poised in rest:

And it was sharper than diamond-stone,
It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan.

He wore upon his helm

A wreath of ruddy gold: And that gave him the Maidens Three, The youngest was fair to behold. Sir Oluf questioned the Knight oftsoon If he were come from Heaven down: "Art thou Christ of Heaven?" quoth he "So will I yield me unto thee."

"I am not Christ the great, Thou shalt not yield thee yet; I am an unknown Knight,

Three modest Maidens have me bedight."

"Art thou a Knight elected,

And have three Maidens thee bedight? So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, For all the Maidens' honour!" The first tilt they together rode They put their steeds to the test; The second tilt they together rode, They proved their manhood best. The third tilt they together rode, Neither of them would yield; The fourth tilt they together rode, They both fell on the field.

Now lie the Lords upon the plain,

And their blood runs unto death; Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, The youngest sorrows till death.

Wreathea thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silver,

Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers.

But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Hörberg,*

Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling tresses of angels.

Peeped like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work.

Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling,

And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets.

Loud rang the bells already; the thronging crowd was assembled

Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching.

Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones from the organ,

FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNER. PENTECOST, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village

Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the spire of the belfry,

Tipped with a vane of metal, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun

Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime.

Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with roses,

Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet

Murmured gladness and peace, God's peace with lips rosy-tinted

Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches

Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.

Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned

like a leaf-woven arbour

Stood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each cross of iron

Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the

hands of affection

Even the dial, that stood on a hillock among the departed,

(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossoms.

Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet,

Who on his birth-day is crowned by children and children's children.

So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron

Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes.

While all around at his feet, and eternity slumbered in quiet.

Also the church within was adorned, for this

was the season

When the young, their parents' hope, and the

loved-ones of heaven,

Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism.

Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust was

Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches.

There stood the church like a garden; the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions*

Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall

Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood

Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron.

*The Feast of the Tabernacles: in Swedish, Löfhyddohögtiden, the Leaf-huts'-high-tide.

spirits.

Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from him his mantle,

Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth; and with one voice

Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal

Of the sublime Wallín,† of David's harp in the
Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its
North-land
powerful pinions

Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven,

And every face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor.

Lo! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher.

Father he hight and he was in the parish; a Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of christianly plainness

Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the seventy winters. heralding angel

Walked he among the crowd, but still a contemplative grandeur

Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered

grave-stone a sunbeam.

As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly

Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the
Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines St.
day of creation)
John when in Patmos,

Th'

Grey, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man;

Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver.

All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered.

But with a cordial look, to the right and the left Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the hand, the old man,

innermost chancel.

Simply and solemnly proceeded the Christian

service,

Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent dis

course from the old man.

Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came,

Fell like the dew of morning, like manna on those in the desert.

Afterwards, when all was finished, the Teacher reentered the chancel,

Followed therein by the young.

On the right hand the boys had their places,

Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks rosy-blooming.

But on the left hand of these, there stood the tremulous lilies,

Tinged with the blushing light of the morning, the diffident maidens,

Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavement. Now came, with question and answer, the catechism. In the beginning Answered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man's

Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternal

Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted.

Whene'er the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer,

Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied.

Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them,

And to the children explained he the holy, the highest, in few words,

Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple,

Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning.

Even as the green-growing bud is unfolded when Spring-tide approaches,

Leaf by leaf is developed, and, warmed by the radiant sunshine,

Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom

Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes,

So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation,

Line by line from the soul of childhood.

fathers and mothers

The

Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as Judgment,

Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soulsearcher, earthward descending. Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him were transparent,

Shot he; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off.

So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake and he questioned.

"This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the Apostles delivered,

This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptised you, while still ye

Lay on your mother's breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven.

Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom;

Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendour

Rains from the heaven downward;-to-day on the threshhold of childhood

Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election,

For she knows nought of compulsion, and only conviction desireth.

This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence,

Seed for the coming days; without revocation departeth

Now from your lips the confession. Bethink ye, before ye make answer!

Think not, oh think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher.

Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood.

Enter not with a lie on life's journey: the multitude hears you,

Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holy

Standeth before your sight as a witness; the Judge everlasting

Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside him

Grave your confession in letters of fire, upon tablets eternal.

Thus then,-believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created?

Him who redeemed it the Son, and the Spirit where both are united?

Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise!) to cherish God more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother?

Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your living,

Th' heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer,

Be what it may your condition, and walk before
God in uprightness.

Will ye promise me this before God and man?”—
With a clear voice
Answered the young men, Yes! and Yes! with
lips softly-breathing

Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the Teacher

Clouds with the thunders therein, and he spake in accents more gentle,

Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers.

"Hail, then, hail to you all! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome!

Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters!

Yet, for what reason not children? Of such is the kingdom of heaven.

Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father,

Ruling them all as his household,-forgiving in That is of human life a picture, as Scripture turn and chastising, has taught us.

Blessed are the pure before God! Upon purity and upon virtue

Resteth the Christian Faith; she herself from on high is descended.

Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine,

Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for.

Oh! as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylum

Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Ages chill valley,

Oh! how soon will ye come,-too soon!-and long to turn backward

Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where Judgment Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother,

Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was forgiven,

Life was a play and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven.

Seventy years have I lived already; the Father eternal

Gave me gladness and care; but the loveliest hours of existence,

When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, 1 have instantly known them, Known them all again;-they were my childhood's acquaintance.

Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence,

Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's childhood. Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed.

Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is sleeping.

Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men; in the desert

Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth

Naught of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble,

Follows so long as she may her friend; oh, do not reject her,

For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens.

Prayer is Innocence, friend; and willingly flyeth incessant

'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.

Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit

Tags at his chains evermore; and struggles like flames ever upward.

Still he recalls with emotion his Father's manifold mansions,

Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowers,

Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels.

Then grows the earth too narrow, too close; and homesick for heaven

Longs the wanderer again, and the Spirit's longings are worship;

Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty.

Ah! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us,

Crushes to earth our hope, and under the earth, in the graveyard,-

Then it is good to pray unto God; for his sorrowing children

Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them.'"

Yet it is better to pray when all things arc prosperous with us,

Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful Fortune

Kneels down before the Eternal's throne; and, with hands interfolded,

Praises thankful and moved the only Giver of blessings.

Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven?

What has mankind forsooth, the poor! that it has not received?

Therefore. fall in the dust and pray! The seraphs adoring [who Cover with pinions six their face in glory of him Hung his masonry pendant on naught, when the world he created.

Earth declareth his might, and the firmament uttereth his glory.

Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven,

Downward like withered leaves; at the last stroke of midnight millenniums

Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothing. Whall shall stand in his presence? The wrath of the Judge is terrific,

Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his anger. Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck.

Yet, why are ye afraid, ye children? This awful Avenger,

Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice was not in the earthquake,

Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes.

Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number

Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only,

forth his spirit

Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its

Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven.

Quench, oh quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being.

Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor mother

Loved you, as God has loved you: for 'twas that you may be happy

Gave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hour Solemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice then was completed.

Lo! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividing

Earth and heaven apart; and the dead, from their sepulchres rising. Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other

Th'

answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma,-Atonement!

Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement.

Therefore, child of mortality! love thou the merciful Father;

Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection;

Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing;

Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only.

Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren;

One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also.

Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead? [not sailing Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is he Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided

By the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother? Hateth he thee, forgive! For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter

Of the Eternal's language;-on carth it is called Forgiveness!

Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns round his temples? Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? Say dost thou know him?

Ah! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example.

Think of thy brother no ill. but throw a veil over his failings,

Guide the erring aright; for the good, the heavenly Shepherd

Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother.

This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it.

Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but Love among mortals

Is but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting,

Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids.

Hope, so is called upon earth, his recompense,Hope the befriending,

Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven and faithful

Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it

Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows!

Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise,

Having nought else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven,

Him, who has given us more; for to us has

Hope been transfigured,