THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR.

THE following ballad was suggested to me while riding on the sea-shore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armour; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old Wind-Mill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the Memoires de la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 1838-1839, says:

"There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic architecture, and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and North of Europe, where it continued to predominate until the close of the 12th century; that style, which some authors have, from one of its most striking characteristics, called the round-arch style, the same which in England is denominated Saxon and sometimes Norman architecture.

"On the ancient structure in Newport there are no ornaments remaining, which might possibly have served to guide us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approximation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later period. From such characteristics as remain, however, we can scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am persuaded that all, who are familiar with Old-Northern Architecture, will concur, THAT

THIS BUILDING WAS ERECTED AT A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE 12TH CENTURY. This remark applies, of course, to the original building only, and not to the alterations that it subsequently received; for there are several such alterations in the upper part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and which were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern times to various uses, for example, as the substructure of a wind-mill, aud latterly as a hay magazine. To the same times may be referred the windows, the fire-place, and the apertures made above the columns. That this building could not have been erected for a wind-mill, is what an architect will easily discern."

I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is sufficiently well established for the purpose of a ballad; though doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed his days in sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to exclaim with Sancho: "God bless me! did I not warn you to have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing but a wind-mill: and nobody could mistake it, but one who had the like in his head."]

"SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armour drest,

Comest to daunt me !

Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,

Why dost thou haunt me?"
Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe

From the heart's chamber.
"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,

No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse!
For this I sought thee.
"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
1, with my childish hand,

Tamed the ger falcon;
And, with my skates fast-boun 1,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;

Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.
"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew

With the marauders.
Wild was the fe we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,

By our stern orders.
"Many a wassail bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout

Set the cocks crowing.
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,

Filled to o'erflowing.
"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,

Burning yet tender:
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine

Fell their soft splendour.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted

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 laughed,
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 horseinen.

"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,
Thon leaped her cable's length.

Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so:

For I can weather the roughest gale,

That ever wind did blow."

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 should 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 plow 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, Ilope, 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 few.

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 be "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.

THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 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

llung 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

Wreathed thercon 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,

Hover like voices from God. aloft like invisible 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

North-land

Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its 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 christianly plainness

Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of

seventy winters.

Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the 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 day of creation)

Th'

Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines St.
John when in Patmos,

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 hand, the old man,

Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel.

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 Pevilions*

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, Böfhyddohögtiden, the Leaf-huts'-high-tide.

service,

Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse 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 reëntered the chancel, Followed therein by the young

hand the boys had their places,

On the right

*The peasant-painter of Sweden. He is known chiefly by his altar-pieces in the village churches. + A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly remarkable for the beauty and sublimity of his psalms.

Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and checks 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

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, of 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 yon,

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,-bell ve 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-broathing

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 turn and chastising,

That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us.

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

Resteth the Christian Faith; she herself from Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum on high is descended. Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and of the doctrine,

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.