Upsprings, from yonder tangled thorn, A stag more white than mountain snow; And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 'Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!' A heedless wretch has cross'd the way; He gasps the thundering hoofs below ; But, live who can, or die who may, Still, 'forward, forward!' on they go. See, where yon simple fences meet, A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd: See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, A husbandman with toil embrown'd: 'O mercy, mercy, noble lord! Spare the poor's pittance,' was his cry, 'Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd, In scorching hour of fierce July.' Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey; The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, But furious holds the onward way. 'Away, thou hound! so basely born, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!' Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!' So said, so done: A single bound Clears the poor labourer's humble pale; Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale. And man and horse, and hound and¦ horn, Destructive sweep the field along; While, joying o'er the wasted corn, Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. ! With blood besmear'd, and white with He listens for his trusty hounds; foam, While big the tears of anguish pour, He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, The humble hermit's hallow'd bower. But man and horse, and horn and hound, Fast rattling on his traces go; The sacred chapel rung around With,' Hark away! and, holla, ho!' All mild, amid the rout profane, The holy hermit pour'd his prayer; Forbear with blood God's house to stain; Revere his altar, and forbear! The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride, Draw vengeance on the ruthless head: Be warn'd at length, and turn aside.' Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads; The Black, wild whooping, points the prey: Alas! the Earl no warning heeds, But frantic keeps the forward way. 'Holy or not, or right or wrong, Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, Not God himself, shall make me turn!' He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 'Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!' But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. And horse and man, and horn and¦ hound, And clamour of the chase, was gone; For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, A deadly silence reign'd alone. Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around; He strove in vain to wake his horn, In vain to call for not a sound Could from his anxious lips be borne. No distant baying reach'd his ears: His courser, rooted to the ground, The quickening spur unmindful bears. Still dark and darker frown the shades, Dark as the darkness of the grave; And not a sound the still invades, Save what a distant torrent gave. High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke; And, from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke. 'Oppressor of creation fair! Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool! Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! The measure of thy cup is full. 'Be chased for ever through the wood; For ever roam the affrighted wild; And let thy fate instruct the proud, God's meanest creature is his child.' 'Twas hush'd: One flash, of sombre glare, With yellow tinged the forests brown; Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, And horror chill'd each nerve and bone. Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill; Earth heard the call; her entrails rend; a yell, Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend The misbegotten dogs of hell. What ghastly Huntsman next arose, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; His eye like midnight lightning glows, His steed the swarthy hue of hell. The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, O see you that castle, so strong and so high? With many a shriek of helpless And see you that lady, the tear in woe; Behind him hound, and horse, and And horn, And 'Hark away!' and 'Holla, ho!' With wild despair's reverted eye, Close, close behind, he marks the throng. With bloody fangs and eager cry; In frantic fear he scours along. Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, At midnight's witching hour, ascend. This is the horn, and hound, and horse, That oft the lated peasant hears; Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross, When the wild din invades his ears. The wakeful priest oft drops a tear For human pride, for human woe, When, at his midnight mass, he hears The infernal cry of 'Holla, ho!' THE FIRE-KING. 'The blessing of the evil genii, which are curses, were upon him.'-Eastern Tale. BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear; her eye? see you that palmer, from Palestine's land, The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand? Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell What news bring you home from the And how goes the warfare by Galilee's And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land?' 'O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah And well fare our nobles by Mount For the Heathen have lost, and the A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair For the news thou hast brought from 'And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle When the Crescent went back, and And you haply may sigh, in the midst O lady, fair lady, the tree green it Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high; But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 'The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls, It leaves of your castle but levinscorch'd walls; The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone; Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon.' 'And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand, To drive the Frank robber from When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake.' He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled sword, Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord; O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, at her speed; And she's ta'en a sword, should be For the love of the maiden of fair sharp at her need; Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, Lebanon. And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground, Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, He has watch'd until daybreak, but sight saw he none, Small thought on his faith, or his Save the flame burning bright on its knighthood, had he: altar of stone. A heathenish damsel his light heart Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan had won, The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 'O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be, Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee: Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take; And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 'And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore, amazed, Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed; They search'd all his garments, and, under his weeds, They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground, He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whistled round; Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, The flame burn'd unmoved, and nought else did he spy. Alone, and in silence, three nights Loud murmur'd the priests, and shalt thou wake; amazed was the King, And this thou shalt next do for While many dark spells of their Zulema's sake. witchcraft they sing; They search'd Albert's body, and, lo! on his breast In his hand a broad falchion blueglimmer'd through smoke, Was the sign of the Cross, by his And Mount Lebanon shook as the father impress'd. The priests they erase it with care and with pain, And the recreant return'd to the cavern again; monarch he spoke: 'With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and no more, Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore.' But, as he descended, a whisper there The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the fell: It was his good angel, who bade him farewell! High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, weapon; and see! The recreant receives the charm'd gift on his knee: The thunders growl distant, and faint gleam the fires, And he turn'd him five steps, half As, borne on the whirlwind, the phan resolved to retreat; But his heart it was harden'd, his purpose was gone, tom retires. Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among, When he thought of the Maiden of Though his heart it was false, yet his fair Lebanon. Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce trode, When the winds from the four points of heaven were abroad, They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, arm it was strong; And the Red-cross wax'd faint, and the Crescent came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, And, borne on the blast, came the The sands of Samaar drank the blood I ween the stout heart of Count Albert Against the charm'd blade which was tame, When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. Count Albert did wield, The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross shield; |