DONICA. In Finland there is a castle which is called the New Rock, moated about with a river of unsounded depth, the water black, and the fish therein very distasteful to the palate. In this are spectres often seen, which foreshow either the death of the governor, or some prime officer belonging to the place; and most commonly it appeareth in the shape of a harper, sweetly singing and dallying and playing under the water. It is reported of one Donica, that after she was dead, the Devil walked in her body for the space of two years, so that none suspected but she was still alive; for she did both speak and eat, though very sparingly; only she had a deep paleness on her countenance, which was the only sign of death. At length a magician coming by where she was then in the company of many other virgins, as soon as he beheld her he said, "Fair maids, why keep you company with this dead virgin, whom you suppose to be alive?" when taking away the magic charm which was tied under her arm, the body fell down lifeless and without motion. The following ballad is founded on these stories. They are to be found in the notes to The Hierarchies of the blessed Angels; a poem by Thomas Heywood, 1635. HIGH on a rock whose castled shade In ancient strength majestic stood The fisher in the lake below Her passing wings would wet. The cattle from its ominous banks Though parched with thirst, and faint beneath For sometimes when no passing breeze All white with foam, and heaving high All when the tempest from its base And ever then when death drew near Its dark unfathomed depths did send The Lord of Arlinkow was old, A bloom as bright as opening morn Far was her beauty known, for none Together did they hope to tread The eve was fair and mild the air; And brightly o'er the water streamed The liquid radiance wide; Donica's little dog ran on And gamboled at her side. Youth, Health, and Love bloomed on her cheek, Her full dark eyes express In many a glance to Eberhard Her soul's meek tenderness. Nor sound was heard, nor passing gale The air was hushed; no little wave Sudden the unfathomed lake sent forth As the deep sounds of death arose, And in the arms of Eberhard Loudly the youth in terror shrieked, But soon again did better thoughts And he with trembling hope beheld And on his arm reclined she moved And soon with strength recovered reached Yet never to Donica's cheek Her cheeks were deathy white, and wan, Her eyes so bright and black of yore, And when he found her health unharmed He would not brook delay, But pressed the not unwilling maid And when at length it came, with joy And as they at the altar stood And as the youth with holy warmth And loudly did he shriek, for lo! That instant from her earthly frame And at the side of Eberhard RUDIGER. Divers princes and noblemen being assembled in a beautiful and fair palace, which was situate upon the river Rhine, they beheld a boat or small barge make toward the shore, drawn by a swan in a silver chain, the one end fastened about her neck, the other to the vessel; and in it an unknown soldier, a man of a comely personage and graceful presence, who stept upon the shore; which done, the boat guided by the swan left him, and floated down the river. This man fell afterwards in league with a fair gentlewoman, married her, and by her had many children. After some years the same swan came with the same barge unto the same place; the soldier entering into it was carried thence the way he came, left wife, children and family, and was never seen amongst them after. BRIGHT on the mountain's heathy slope The day's last splendours shine, And rich with many a radiant hue, And many a one from Waldhurst's walls As ruffling o'er the pleasant stream So as they strayed, a swan they saw Whose streamer to the gentle breeze Long floating fluttered light, Beneath whose crimson canopy There lay reclined a knight. With arching crest and swelling breast And onward to the shore they drew, Was never a knight in Waldhurst's walls Was never youth at aught esteemed Was never a maid in Waldhurst's walls Her cheek was fair, her eyes were dark, Her silken locks like jet. And many a rich and noble youth At every tilt and tourney he Still bore away the prize, For knightly feats superior still, |