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say ?

That woman's faith 's a brittle trust A long adieu he bids to all, hoists seven twelvemonths didst thou

topsails, and away,

And wanders in Saint Thomas-land I'll pledge me for no lady's truth be seven twelvemonths and a day'. yond the seventh fair day.'

It was the noble Moringer within an The noble Baron turn'd him round,

orchard slept, his heart was full of care,

When on the Baron's slumbering

sense a boding vision crept; His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir,

| And whisper'd in his ear a voice, " 'Tis To whom he spoke right anxiously, | Thy Lady and thy heritage another

time, Sir Knight, to wake, * Thou trusty squire to me, Wilt thou receive this weighty trust

master take. when I am o'er the sea ? 'Thy tower another banner knows,

thy steeds another rein, * To watch and ward my castle strong, And stoop them to another's will thy and to protect my land,

gallant vassal train; And to the hunting or the host to And she, the Lady of thy love, so lead my vassal band;

faithful once and fair, And pledge thee for my Lady's faith This night within thy fathers' hall till seven long years are gone,

she weds Marstetten's heir.' And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John?'

It is the noble Moringer starts up

and tears his beard, Marstetten's heir was kind and true, ! 'Oh would that I had ne'er been born! but fiery, hot, and young,

what tidings have I heard ! And readily he answer made with too To lose my lordship and my lands

the less would be my care, presumptuous tongue: • My noble lord, cast care away, and But, God! that e'er a squire untrue on your journey wend,

should wed my Lady fair. And trust this charge to me until

"Ogood Saint Thomas, hear,'he pray'd, your pilgrimage have end.

'my patron Saint art thou,

A traitor robs me of my land even * Rely upon my plighted faith, which

while I pay my vow! shall be truly tried,

My wife he brings to infamy that was To guard your lands, and ward your

so pure of name, towers, and with your vassals

And I am far in foreign land, and must ride;

endure the shame.' And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear,

It was the good Saint Thomas, then, I'll gage my head it knows no change,

who heard his pilgrim's prayer, be absent thirty year.'

And sent a sleep so deep and dead

that it o'erpower'd his care; The noble Mcringer took cheer when He waked in fair Bohemian land thus hc heard him speak,

outstretch'd beside a rill, Ind doubt forsook his troubled brow, High on the right a castle stood, low and sorrow left his cheek;

on the left a mill.

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The Moringer he started up as one from And to the warder thus he spoke : spell unbound,

Friend, to thy Lady say, And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land wildly all around;

craves harbour for a day. 'I know my fathers' ancient towers,

"I've wander'd many a weary step, the mill, the stream I know, Now blessed be my patron Saint who

my strength is wellnigh done,

And if she turn me from her gate cheer'd his pilgrim's woe!'

I'll see no morrow's sun; He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, to the mill he drew,

a pilgrim's bed and dole, So alter'd was his goodly form that And for the sake of Moringer's, her none their master knew;

once-loved husband's soul.' The Baron to the miller said, 'Good It was the stalwart warder then he friend, for charity,

came his dame before, Tell a poor palmer in your land what

'A pilgrim, worn and travel-toil'd, tidings may there be ?'

stands at the castle-door; The miller answered him again, 'He And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' knew of little news,

sake, for harbour and for dole, Save that the Lady of the land did And for the sake of Moringer, thy a new bridegroom choose ;

noble husband's soul.' Her husband died in distant land, The Lady's gentle heart was moved ; such is the constant word;

*Do up the gate,' she said, His death sits heavy on our souls, ! · And bid the wanderer welcome be he was a worthy Lord.

to banquet and to bed ; Of him I held the little mill which

And since he names my husband's wins me living free ;

name, so that he lists to stay, God rest the Baron in his grave, he

These towers shall be his harbourage still was kind to me!

a twelvemonth and a day.' And when Saint Martin's tide comes It was the stalwart warder then un

round, and millers take their toll, did the portal broad; The priest that prays for Moringer. It was the noble Moringer that o'er shall have both cope and stole.' the threshold strode;

And have thou thanks, kind heaven,' It was the noble Moringer to climb

i he said, though from a man the hill began,

of sin, And stood before the bolted gate | That the true lord stands here once a woe and weary man;

more his castle-gate within.' Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take,

Then up the halls paced Moringer, his To gain the entrance of my hall this

step was sad and slow; woful match to break.'

1 It sat full heavy on his heart, none

seem'd their Lord to know; His very knock it sounded sad, his He sat him on a lowly bench,oppress'd call was sad and slow,

with woc and wrong, For heart and head, and voice and Short space he sat, but ne'er to him

hand, were hcavy all with woe; , scem'd little space so long.

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Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, Now listen, gentles, to my song, it and come was evening hour,

tells you but the sooth, The time was nigh when new-made 'Twas with that very ring of gold he

brides retire to nuptial bower; pledged his bridal truth. "Our castle's wont,' a bridesman said,

hath been both firm and long, Then to the cupbearer he said, “Do me Yo guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a song.'

one kindly deed,

And should my better day's return, Then spoke the youthful bridegroom

full rich shall be thy meed; there as he sat by the bride, Bear back the golden cup again to My merry minstrel folk,' quoth he, yonder bride so gay, "lay shalm and harp aside;

And crave her of her courtesy to Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the pledge the palmer grey.'

castle's rule to hold, And well his guerdon will I pay with | The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor garment and with gold.'

was the boon denied, • Chill flows the lay of frozen age,'

The golden cup he took again, and

bore it to the bride; 'twas thus the pilgrim sung ; • Nor golden meed nor garment gay

'Lady,' he said, “your reverend guest

sends this, and bids me pray, unlocks his heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at

That, in thy noble courtesy, thou

pledge the palmer grey;' board as rich as thine, And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye,

she views it close and near, * But time traced furrows on my face, Then might you hear her shriek aloud, and I grew silver-hair'd,

• The Moringer is here!' Forlocks ofbrown, and cheeks ofyouth, | Then might you see her start from she left this brow and beard;

seat, while tears in torrents fell, Once rich, but now a palmer poor, But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the I tread life's latest stage,

ladies best can tell. And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.'

But loud she utter'd thanks to lIeaven, It was the noble Lady there this woful and every saintly power, lay that hears,

That had return'd the Moringer before And for the aged pilgrim's grief her the midnight hour;

eye was dimm'd with tears; And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that She bade hergallant cupbeareragolden never was there bride beaker take,

That had like her preserved her troth, And bear it to the palmer poor to or been so sorely tried.

quaff it for her sake. It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd · Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, amid the wine

to constant matrons due, A bridal ring of burning gold so costly Who keep the troth that they have and so fine:

plight, so stedfastly and truc;

For count the term howe'er you will, O father, see yonder! see yonder!' so that you count aright,

he says; Seven twelvemonths and a day are out · My boy, upon what dost thou fearwhen bells toll twelve to-night.' fully gaze?'

O, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown It was Marstetten then rose up, his and his shroud.' falchion there he drew,

'No, my son, it is but a dark wreath He kneel'd before the Moringer, and of the cloud.'

down his weapon threw; My oath and knightly faith are broke,' (The Erl-King speaks.)

these were the words he said, 'Thentake, my liege, thy vassal'ssword, 'O come and go with me, thou loveliest

child; and take thy vassal's head.'

By many a gay sport shall thy time be The noble Moringer he smiled, and

beguiled; then aloud did say,

My mother keeps for thee full many lle gathers wisdom that hath roam'd

a fair toy, seven twelvemonths and a day;

And many a fine flower shall she pluck My daughter now hath fifteen years,

for my boy.' fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and

O father, my father, and did you name her for my heir.

not hear

The Erl-King whisper so low in my "The young bridegroom hath youthful

ear?' bride, the old bridegroom the old, | •Be still, my heart's darling--my child, Whose faith was kept till term and tide it was but the wild blast as it sung

be at ease; so punctually were told; But blessings on the warder kind that

thro' the trees.' oped my castle-gate, For had I come at morrow tide, I came

Erl-King a day too late.

'O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest

boy? My daughter shall tend thee with care

and with joy;

She shall bear thee so lightly thro' THE ERL-KING.

wet and thro' wild,

And press thee, and kiss thee, and FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

sing to my child.

O, who rides by night thro’the wood- O father, my father, and saw you not land so wild ?

plain It is the fond father embracing his The Erl-King's pale daughter glide child;

past thro' the rain ?' And close the boy nestles within his O yes, my loved treasure, I know it

| loved arm,

full soon; To hold himself fast, and to keep It was the grey willow that danced to himself warın.

the moon.'

Erl-king: O come and go with me, no longer

delay, Or else, silly child, I will drag thee

away.' "O father: O father: now, now, keep

your hold, The Erl-King has seized me-hisgrasp

is so cold'

Sore trembled the father; he spurr'il

thro' the wild, Clasping close to his bosom his shud

dering child; He reaches his dwelling in doubt and

in dread, But, clasp'd to his busom, the intant

was dead.


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