UBRARY OF CONGRES OOOlSDSSbOl ^mm: flass V" £ \ 1 3 B00k_ CONTENTS. BALLADS. A Breton Legend .... 9 Pictures in the Fire 15 Gerda ..... • . 19 The Indian's Message . 26 EULALIE, I., II., III. . 31 The Jungfrau . 35 The Maid of the Morass . . 37 Tawasentha Lake 40 The Mariner . .• 45 The "Wanderer .... 48 June Evening . 58 Dirge of Adonis . . 61 Bagatelle . 66 The Viking .... 68 The Rose Wreaths . 76 4 CONTENTS. HISTORICAL BALLADS. LuTZEN ...... 81 Lament op Abd-el-Rhaman ... 91 Francis II. at Gaeta . . . .93 The Battle op Yermouk ... 99 El Zagal . . 103 MOSENNA . . , 109 Hakem ... . 113 TRANSLATIONS. To Spring 119 To the Ro*se ..... 120 From Hecuba ..... 121 Chorus prom Hecuba .... 124 From a Chorus in Alcestis . . .127 From a Chorus in Alcestis . . . 129 Harald the Valiant . 131 Funeral Song op Hacon . . . 134 Note to Harald ..... 141 Note to Hacon . . . 143 BALLADS nVHJIrWsrterJr. BALLADS TRANSLATIONS OONSTANTDTA E. BEOOKS. NEW TOEK: D. APPLETON & CO., 443 akd 445 BROADWAY. LONDON : 16 LITTLE BRITAIN. 1866. **■ \>XXa ra /teV t aue/xos x«M»5is X e ' ei 5 «A.\a Se 0' uArj T77Ae0o'w(ra (/>ye/, eapos 8' iniy'Lyi/erai S>pr] ' "Cls avdpcov yeverj, r] (xku cpvei, T) 8' anoXriyei. Wearily I wake and listen, Wearily the moonbeams glisten On the thousand roofs and towers ; Shadows black and sharp move slowly O'er the pavements, through the holy Silence of the midnight hours. Past the portals of the wealthy Creeps some footstep slow and stealthy- And the great clock's eye of fire BALLADS. 41 Through the sleeping city's mazes Like a spirit witness gazes From its solitary spire. But my eyes are ever turning To the opening door, are yearning Ever towards the opening door ; 'Tis the stranger enters ever, Ah ! the feet I long for, never, Never cross my threshold more. On my brow a soft touch lingers, 'Tis the gentle stranger's fingers, Not the hands I clasped of yore ; 'Tis the stranger looks upon me, With the self-same eyes that won me In the days that are no more. A sweet vision bends above me— Pray thee, leave me then or love me, For my heart is sick with woe ; Dreaming of the loved and cherished, Dreaming of the lost and perished, Dead and buried, long ago. 4* 42 BALLADS. But the vision fair and saintly Fades ; a pale gray streak creeps faintly On the blank wall and the door ; And I think of cold gray morning O'er far Tawasentha dawning, Dawning on the pebbly shore. Thin white mists roll up the valley, O'er the great elms' tangled alley Sounding with the gushing spring ; O'er the mimic isles and billows — The mossed seat beneath the willows, Where we heard the robin sing. There in dreamy noontide, over Knee-deep grass and scented clover, "Wavy shadows come and pass ; There the laden bee rejoices, And the merry children's voices Gathering blue-bells in the grass. Oft when eastward the long shadows Of the poplars streaked the meadows, Have I crossed the little bridge ; BALLADS. 43 Through the forest-walk with beeches Musical and dark, that reaches Winding to the northern ridge. Far — a dark line, lay the river — Broad and ripening grain-fields quiver, As the light breeze wanders through ; And the hills beyond, extended, Blue and bluer, until blended With the calm, eternal blue. Sweetly chimes the distant vesper. Sweetly rises love's own Hesper O'er the homestead on the brink — While at times from out the thicket The soft carols of the cricket On the warm air rise and sink. Ah ! even like that scene elysian All the future's golden vision Spread before my dreaming eyes ; Sweet the home of love and duty — Fair the far-off hills of beauty Towering, blending with the skies. 44 BALLADS. Hark ! where dust with dust is lying, Wakes a dreary whisper, sighing : Vain the fond heart's hope and scheme ; All the light its promise lendeth, When the night of death descendeth, All — is but an idle dream. Hark ! from yon unseen dominions, 'Tis the sweep of seraph pinions, 'Tis the word of surety — All the bliss this life but dreameth, When the eternal morning beameth Will be made reality. BALLADS. 45 THE MARINER. When day along the ^Egean deep His parting glory flung, A maid on Samos' sunny steep "Wove sedgy wreaths and sung : u Swiftly roll, O blue, blue sea; Sweetly smile, blue skies above ; Safe, ye breezes, back to me "Waft the bark that bears my love. A Long ago our hearts were plighted, Then I trusted him to thee, Soon again to be united. Swiftly roll, O blue, blue sea! " 46 BALLADS. Sudden from the rock she gazed, Sees she 'neath the deep blue wave A pale face to hers upraised — Pale and solemn as the grave. Sea-green were those floating tresses, Decked with sea-flower and with shell, A soft voice her ear addresses — But she knows that voice too well : " Cease, my love, and weep no more Vain for me thy prayers arise, Far on Suli's rocky shore, Wrecked, my shattered vessel lies. " Now I dwell in coral chamber, Fairest nymphs around me throng, Wreathe my locks with shells and amber, Yet are their caresses cold, And I swam the wide blue sea Once more my Samos to behold, Once more to speak a word with thee.' 1 BALLADS. 47 No more his tale she hears him tell, Slides she from the steep, In coral cell with her love to dwell, Far in the blue, blue deep. 48 BALLADS. THE WANDERER. League on league steadily Cleaving the moonlit sea, Northward, away, swift the stout vessel's flight : On her deck cannon gleamed, Flags and torn ensigns streamed, Spoils she had won in the sturdy sea-fight. Loud the carouse and laugh, Red is the wine they quaff, As that day's heroes recount on her deck, How with the foeman's mast Grappled she fierce and fast, How her tough beams quivered over the wreck. BALLADS. 49 Bending above the prow, Lone, and unlistening now, He whose voice ruled in the thunderous fray, Hears not his vaunted name, Heeds not the deathless fame "Won where the cannon's breath blackened the day. The sea below — the stars above — The plash before the prow — 'Tis to the music-touch of love His spirit vibrates now ; He sees the face of his fair young bride, His home by the northern sea ; The parting that was— the joy, the pride, The meeting that is to be. League on league steadily, Hour by hour peacefully, Westward the moon and one star with her sails ; Far through the northern air, Pale grows the Greater Bear, Pale grows the Lesser — the polar star pales. 50 BALLADS. Still with the rushing wave Mingles the martial stave, Loud blows the bugle blast forth on the night — Still bending o'er the prow, Lone and unlistening now, He whose eye calmly beamed o'er the sea-fight. He sees the face of his fair young bride, His home by the northern sea, The parting that was— the joy, the pride, The meeting that is to be. Hark ! 'twas the seaman's cry — Ho ! land ho ! cheerily — And colder breezes ruffle the sea, From the ice-fields rushing forth ; Through the morning twilight, far to lee, The mist-robed giant cliffs stand out — Like northern gods in council rout, When Asgard echoes with the shout ; They look o'er the foam and froth ; Merrily ho ! cheer merrily ! Tis the snow-land of the north. BALLADS. 51 Merrily, madly the white caps dance, Like a reed does the staunch mast bow, Swift as an eagle's pinions glance Kound swoops the gallant prow, By the light-house — by the sunken ledge — By the cliffs and the sleeping town — The cheers are given and drained is the pledge, And manned are the boats to the water's edge, As deep drops the anchor down. The reedless pools below, And the moorlands frozen lie ; From the pines black 'gainst the sky Comes the " caw-caw " of the crow. The sun sets red, and pours A flood of glory broad and brief On the line of breakers on the reef, The breakers on the shore. It slants up the snow-deep land, And gleams like a star to the tall church vane, And burns like fire on the cottage pane That looks o'er the lonely strand. 52 BALLADS. The wanderer stands in his silent hall- No face of welcome does he meet, He only hears his footstep fall, And he hears his own heart beat ; And answering to the deep sea's tone That comes disconsolate and lone, The old clock ticking from the wall- Warning, as it warned of yore, All who step the threshold o'er And hear it heedlessly — Time is — time is no more — Time is eternity ! The curtained room is hushed and chill ; there lies What will not move or speak — Where is the welcome to illume those eyes ? The blush to warm that cheek ? Where of this soul bereaved the earthly all- Its hope and joy of yore ? O dust and ashes ! 'neath the funeral pall, In the dread nevermore ! BALLADS. 53 Slow the northern constellations wheel Round the polar star, Lurid dance the northern fires and reel O'er the waste afar. On the white shroud glares the taper white- Glares the white face o'er — One last night beside her, one long night, And then — nevermore ! To and fro In the church-tower swings the sullen bell, Wearily the bearers go, "With a weary breath they pass, and slow, To the hollow and doleful knell. Out into the cold crisp air — Out from the walls her smile has blessed, Over the threshold her feet have pressed, A cold still thing they bear. 54 BALLADS. A pale blue wintry sky ; An icy glare round the church-yard stone, Down into the grave a dead leaf flits, A little snowbird shivering sits By the church-yard gate alone ; The long procession halting there — O loved and loving, more than friend, loving heart-friend, bride and wife ! Is this the end ? Calm, solemn floats upon the air, " I am the Resurrection and the Life." A sinking coffin— a long dull sound Of a voice's monotonous tone — A rattling rope — a fall of ground ; Slowly is heaped the little mound ; The dead and the living are left alone. Twilight sinks on the roaring beach, Longer the lengthening shadows reach, Sea-fogs rise and sweep like ghosts From the restless sea o'er the long bleak coasts The owl from the forest bare and high Prolongs her melancholy cry, BALLADS. 55 And Sirius loots from the eastern hill On the little church-yard white and still, All sheeted in its snow-shroud save That one dark spot — the new-made grave. In joy — in gloom have rolled away The years since that cold burial day ; With summer blossoms teems the dell, And 'neath the west wind's quickening powers The wastes of water heave and swell, And bloom forth into snow-white flowers ; And o'er the surge A spirit voice, low, sweet, intones a dirge. The cricket hums his drowsy tune, Through thick boughs peers the cold wan moon On the stained and fallen headstone ; Athwart the rank grass drearily The northern ocean wearily Sends a deep thunder moan. 56 BALLADS. A story 'tis of days long gone — That beauteous bride, that marriage morn, That cottage by the sea, Where fancy in the hearth-fire blaze Wrought many a shape for coming days, All — save what was to be. That hallowed place where thou didst kneel To give in love, for woe or weal, Thy gentle heart and hand ; There strangers kneel and strangers pray, And one, alone, far — far away, Is in a stranger's land. In glittering robes he stands, and to The gorgeous altar's golden glow He lifts the consecrated cup ; Amid the fume of censer fires — The blaze of lights — the chanting choirs An image from his heart floats up. BALLADS. 57 It whispers softly — nought can change The soul, nor lessen nor estrange Love on that blissful shore, "Where in a blest eternity, The loving unto death, shall be The loving evermore. 58 BALLADS. JUNE EVENING. 'Ear i 8' '6 it 7] vvv iar i. Dark and broad swelled the river's breast, The full moon hung o'er the eastern hill, "While the uplands and the downs were still On fire with the red and burning west. From the town below rose loud and sweet The vesper chime, a voice of love, While the barracks that crowned the hill above "Were loud with the fife, and the drum's quick beat. BALLADS. 59 But to my soul from the far-off past Ever a voice read soft and low, Of the Argive host, and the Thracian blast, And the maid that perished long ago. And in my ears — an echo afar— Ever an old Greek chorus rung, Ever the song of fate it sung — "As things are, even so they are." Bright and brighter the moon looked down Till molten gold glowed the river's flood, The red fire died in the western wood, And lights gleamed up from the silent town. And far away stretched dim and dark, The uplands and downs 'neath the misty sky ; And nought was heard save the bull-frog's cry, Or the distant watch-dog's ceaseless bark. The visions of the far-off past, They paled — they faded into gloom, That voice grew faint, and died at last, Even to the silence of the tomb. 60 BALLADS. Yet in my ears — an echo afar — Ever the old Greek chorus rung, Ever the song of fate it sung, "As things are, even so they are." BALLADS. 61 DIRGE OF ADONIS. 'A Se rd\aiva Z«o>, ku\ debs i/J-jJ.)) kcu oil dvua/xai ere Siwtceiv. BlON. Immortal in thy loveliness and youth Thou art — my lover and my friend ; And thy love's oath — "True even unto the end," The end hath sealed its truth. I shall not day by day Behold tby beauty waste away — The bright locks whitening o'er the wrinkled brow — Nor old age steal at length The spirit's pride and strength, 62 BAU.ADS. Nor the warm heart grow cold And wither in the fold Of mine — aye changeless as thyself art now. Ah — woe is me ! Mine immortality Hath sundered us — I may not follow thee. Thine eyes 1 last look in mine Was all joy's fulness, and the press Of thy caress — Thy lips' last touch all fire and tenderness — Mingling a goddess' soul with thine; — Then parted — fading from each other's sight Into the brightness of the morrow's promise, As fades some heavenly vision from us Into the splendor of the heavenly light. Ah ! fore well hour ! Ah ! had some power Prophetic warned it was the fatal hour! Ah — woe is me ! Mine immortality Hath sundered us — I may not follow thee. BALLADS. 63 The summer day went by — I saw thee lie Before my feet — cold, beauteous marble form. I spoke not — wept not — but the warm Life currents in their fount grew still and frore. A fixed forevermore unchanging grace "Was on that tranquil face, And by that look of loveliness I knew My soul's intense, deep love and reverence grew Fixed — changeless evermore. And through the gloom, The cloud- wrapt tomb, And through infinity — And through eternity — I seek thee, yearning, longing wearily — And still I find thee not, and still I yearn — All ! for one hour's return ! Ah — woe is me ! Mine immortality Hath sundered us — I may not follow thee. 64 BALLADS. O happy mortals ! when you weep above Some cherished grave, Be comforted — your human love At least can die with what it could not save. But me ! Ah — woe is me ! Mine immortality Hath sundered us — I may not follow thee. Mine own — all mine ! The costliest shrine Where kneeling crowds burn incense to my name, And my dread power proclaim, Less sacred is to me than this poor spot Where all /worshipped — is? — ah, no! — is not. Ah — woe is me ! Mine immortality. Hath sundered us — I may not follow thee. No longer can earth give To me a hope or bliss ; In thy dim shadowy world with thee I live, And see like far-off things the events of this. BALLADS. 65 When summer morning floods With rose hues the cleft ridges and dense woods, When dews are glittering on the grass, And with fleet step the huntress Oreads pass, And through the dells is borne The music of the horn, Then do I wander lonely and forlorn — O'er the lone mountains like a dream I flit. When shadows shroud the brake, And thousand birds their glad night-carols sing, And from the low deep-hidden lake Comes up the plashing of the swan's white wing, I fold my hands and sit Lonely and desolate where thou dost lie — Lonely and longing for the power to die — I sit and dream what may not be. Ah — woe is me ! Mine immortality Hath sundered us — I may not follow thee. BALLADS. BAGATELLE. 1st Voice. Meeeily steer ! while the ocean waves Are bright with the morning glow — Who cares for the rocks and the coral caves And the lurking sands below ! 2d Voice. Yet deep where the coral bowers are reared, Are couches of sea-weed pale — Where many a seaman that merrily steered, Sleeps on through calm and gale. BALLADS. 1st Voice. 67 Merrily steer ! while blue is the sky, Ho — ho ! for the foamy crest ! Who thinks of the tempest's lightning eye In its lair afar, at rest ! 2d Voice. Yet the tempest marks from his sullen lair His prey on the sounding sea — Merrily steer, while the skies are fair, Too soon they may darkened be. 68 BALLADS. THE VIKING. The southern sunbeam colder grew As it gleamed on the narrow floor, The black stones wet with prison dew — His death-wounds red with gore. His chains grow heavy where they lie, His heart beats faint with loss, And a film steals o'er his cold proud eye As the friar uplifts the cross. Without the moat, through the palm grove tall, Float the light gale's melodies ; Feebly his wan hand beats the wall — BALLADS. 69 Not the hooded friar does he hear or heed — Nor the whispered prayer,- nor the dropping head; But he hears the far-off waterfall Through the Norland's mountain gorges call — And the rush of the Norland breeze ; Death's shadows fold him like a pall, And his dreams are memories. Through the dew-drenched forest of the North Slants down the day's excess, On the woodwalk and the streamlet's froth Deep in the wilderness — The breath of blossoms sweet breathes forth To the balmy air's caress. • I feel, my love, thy presence near — Thy soft heart beating warm, Thy voice, my love, rings in my ear The music of its charm, The touch of thy soft white hand is here, The cling of thy soft white arm. 70 BALLADS. "Without the moat they come and go — The palm grove's fairy chime. He hears not the kneeling friar speak low The words of a hope sublime ; But the wan hand on the wall beats time To the harp-string's prelude ere the flow Of the saga's runic rhyme. Loud is the wassail bout — The night-hours wax toward morn, Mead froths like a foamy cataract out From flagon and drinking horn. Down from the walls in the torchlight glance Reindeer antlers, and hauberk and lance In many a battle borne ; Skalds scream heroic runes Fiercely to the northern tunes ; Harpers old chant staves Of heroes from the Norsemen sprung, Who blood-red flags to the storm-blast flung— Then slept in blood-red graves. BALLADS. VI Silence falls on voice and string, An envoy from the Norsemen's king Stands in the midst, my name He shouts — "Art thou not he who swore Long since by Odin and by Thor To do a deed of fame — To sail, and never, never more Look on thine own, thy country's shore, Till thou hadst hunted from the sea The foe whose deeds of bravery Have wrought thy country's shame ? " My merry crew all — come throng to me — We swear once more by Odin's head, An oath in Asgard registered — This night we put to sea. "Without the moat, through the palm grove tall, The southern breeze makes moan, Fainter the lessening sunbeams crawl Up the cold black prison stone, 72 BALLADS. Still feebly the wan hand beats the wall- He hears not the friar's low accents fall, But the roar of the surf on the sand beach poured, The thunder of the far fiord, And the ocean's monotone. O'er the dark blue wave away — away — League on league, and day on day, And month on month, afar and nigh A barren sea, a barren sky, Till the salt-sea foam we loathe ; Now with the full sail merrily, Now with the slow oar wearily ; "We had sworn a direful oath. Our midnight lamps of seal oil burn, The hurricane fierce rushes down on our stern, We scud before it away — away — In morning's gray Athwart our bow Looms up the black hull of the foe. We bear down on her, lock the mast, BALLADS. 73 The torn spars shiver — The strong keels quiver — We grapple fast. Then cutlasses flashed and blood leapt forth — The shock of bucklers, and the hail Of thick strokes rattling on the mail — The slippery deck was heaped with dead ; No groan came from the men of the North As their souls to Walhalla sped. The foe give way — No cry for quarter — the last we slay — The long swell lifts The wreck that drifts Lumbered with corses white and red. Without the moat still through the palm The gales sing melodies ; He hears not the friar's low-murmured psalm, But his hand beats time to the plashing calm Of the prow through the midnight seas. Hark ! 'tis the helmsman's cry — Afar to leeward we espy 74 HALL ADS. The beacon light That cleaves the night. From the headlands where the hoarse surf broke, Tall red flames streaked the shifting waves, And fitful gleamed in the spray-washed caves, And overspread the Norland sky With wreaths of gusty smoke. The hand that grasps the wall grows numb, O'er the swimming eyes does a blackness come, The world in its funeral pall lies dumb. On lurid snow-drift and on lurid main The northern fires burn red ; Why lead me to this snow-deep, frozen plain, Where sleep the Norland's dead ? A little mound, a little cross hard by To mark the slumberer's head — O ! all that loved me 'neath the unpitying sky ! My own, my darling dead ! BALLADS. 75 O never more ! O never more ! By Odin and by Frey and Thor, \Vill I behold my country's shore. Up — up — my merry crew — throng to me, Ours be a life of victory ! Come swear Avith me once more, once more By Odin and by Frey and Thor, This night we put to sen. .The hand drops lifeless from the wall — The chains clank on the stone — May Christ have pity on ns all — The friar has crossed himself with a groan, And shudders and prays with a trembling tone — Miserere Domine ! 76 BALLADS. THE EOSE WREATHS. In a balmy vale of Paradise With flowers and sunbeams bright, Two cherubs sat, and wove two wreaths Of roses, red and white. "For whom those wreaths of roses? " A spirit passing said— " Your locks are crowned already With roses, white and red.' 1 il Last night, with a brother cherub We twain to earth went down, And passed by a dingy alley In a drear and dusky town ; BALLADS. 77 " There lay a suffering beggar boy, His couch the cold hard earth, No food upon his fevered lip, No fire upon his hearth, "And yet he smiled as we went by So patient in his woe, "We wept for pity, nor could bear To leave him there below. " And we prayed to our Creator In His mercy and His love, To take him from that dismal home To dwell with us above. " Our loved Creator promised us Before the midnight drear Again should gather over him, He should be with us here. " One brother cherub waits below To soothe him as he may, Through the hunger and the weariness Of this long suffering day ; 78 BALLADS. " The wreaths are almost finished, For night will soon he down On the dark and dismal alley Of that drear and dusky town." Night came down on the city With its thousand forms of dread, And ere the midnight peal rung out The beggar boy was dead : In the balmy vale of Paradise Four cherubs sat that night, Intoning hymns to God — and crowned "With roses, red and white. HISTORICAL BALLADS. 80 BALLADS. Gustavus Adolphus, of Sweden, was one of the most beautiful characters in history. Schiller says : The questionable fame of a conqueror never tempted him to unjust wars, but he never shrank from a just one. He was the greatest general of the age, and the bravest sol- dier in his army. His personal character was irreproach- able, and he strove to make his army the same. To sum up all, he was a man and a Christian, a king and a hero. The victory of Lutzen was claimed by both Swedes and Austrians ; but Wallenstein, who led the latter, showed his sense of defeat by an immediate retreat. The guilt of Francis of Lauenberg has never been proved, but his career excites strong suspicion. In early youth he was at the Swedish court, and, for some impro- priety, received reproof which he never forgave. He afterwards entered the Imperial army ; without any ap- parent reason, he left it, and attached himself to the Swedes, and immediately on the death of Gustavus re- turned again to his old master, Wallenstein. BALLADS. 81 LUTZEN. Alas, alas for Lutzen! the bloody field of death, Where in our good old cause was hushed full many a noble breath ! Ours was the shout of victory, the weeping and dismay— For our Gustavus' sacred life was offered up that day. How sullen rose the misty morn along the Swedish train, And hid from sight the long array of Austria and Spain, 4* 82 BALLADS. The gallant counts of Italy, who left their south- ern home To side with Ferdinand and fight in the great cause of Rome ; And bands of plundering Poles and Croats, who throng Avithout rebuke, Like vultures, to the bloody feast spread out by Friedland's Duke. O German land ! canst thou pronounce without a curse that name, The tyrant of the thirty years that wrought thy AA-oe and shame? Think of the blazing villages, the trampled corn and vines, The cities sacked, the peasants slain, the mur- dered Palatines ! But hark! a shout! see through the mist the royal banners wave, See riding through the ranks the king, the merci- ful and brave, So bold and wise in battle, so gentle when 'tis o'er, And humbling still his kingly head the King of kings before : BALLADS. 83 He smiles upon the German host, his sillies true and tried, Then turns upon his Swedes a look of softness and of pride — " Mine own good Swedes! 'twas not for gain or glory in the strife We left behind us hearth and home and child and sire and wife, But 'twas to right the grievous wrong, the fet- tered slave unbind, For God and for his holy word, for freedom and mankind ; Now to the God of armies give glory while ye may, For in his hand He holds alone the issue of this day." He said — and knelt before his ranks ; and loud the shout arose With sounds of martial minstrelsy, and ere its echoes close, The mist rolls slowly from the field, and thunder down amain The Swedish cavalry and charge across the battle plain. 84 BALLADS. "God with us!" and our infantry drive well their lances home — " Jesu Maria ! " sounds along the imperial lines of Rome. The imperial lines give way like reeds when northern tempests hlow ; The trenches captured are and turned against the flying foe : But Friedland rallies his bold troops, they come with wrath and wrack, They press us sore, they break our lines, they drive the battle back, The trenches are recaptured, the labor is undone ; A thousand bodies strew the field, yet not an inch is won. See ! toward the right, what messenger comes spurring through they fray To where amid the thickest din the king upholds the day ? There, 'gainst our shock of cavalry the Croatian charger rears, And press against the flying Poles the Finland cuirassiers : BALLADS. 85 " sire ! the infantry is pressed and sorely calls for aid, And the left wing- can scarcely bear the heavy cannonade ! " "Enough — now Steinbach's regiment, now Fran- cis Albert speed," And darts like lightning o'er the plain his fiery- footed steed ! But to the left they rally, and loud the war-cries ring "God with us!" — to the rescue— he comes, our lord and king ! But to that cry exultant, what agony succeeds As flies a bullet through the air — " Our lord, our sovereign bleeds ! " " 'Tis nothing — on and follow me ! " the brave Gustavus cried, Then spoke in French to Lauenburg, who gal- loped by his side — " I pray thee, brother, lead my horse from out this thick melee, For should I fall, it well might fix the fortunes of the day; 86 BALLADS. I'm faint and sinking, guide me round unseen toward the right, And spare my gallant regiments this soul-subdu- ing sight." Alas! thou Christian hero! thou brave and gentle heart ! The din of battle closes round — farewell ! depart — depart ! What couch so meet to give thee rest as that red field of strife, Where for thy God and for mankind was staked thy gallant life ; Thou, shrined in every human tongue, in every human heart — Thou glory to the name of king ! farewell ! de- part — depart ! Still pressed the battle onward, and covered o'er with foam Still charged our cavalry along the serried ranks of Rome ; Until with flanks all blood and froth, and flying bit and mane, And riderless— -our sovereign's horse came scour- ing o'er the plain : BALLADS. 87 From lip to lip, from heart to heart, the awful tale is sped, " Our good Gustavus is no more ! — our king is with the dead ! " O, Francis, duke of Lauenberg ! a fearful charge they bring — Didst thou, in that melee, thyself strike down our gracious king ? For such a deed, that hell itself with shuddering surveyed, "What hand and heart so fit as thine, thou thrice a renegade ! Duke Bernard rides before the lines, his kindling eye is wet : " Your king lies murdered on the field, his spirit leads you yet ! Ho ! noble sons of Finland ! ho, men in upland bred ! Heroes of Leipzic and of Mentz — on ! and avenge the dead ! 88 BALLADS. Shall Spaniards triumph o'er the dust of your anointed lord ? Not while one Swedish arm can lift a musket or a sword ! " Who yonder gallops o'er the field, and forms the Austrian line ? The iron demon of the fight, the haughty Wallen- stein. A thousand fall, a thousand balls to his one breast are sped, Yet safe, alone, he gallops o'er the dying and the dead; Avenging furies shield that breast, and an assassin's knife, Not Swedish weapon, is foredoomed to end the traitor's life. Now through the thundering cannonade the trump and shout rose high — No thought of flight — our only word, to conquer or to die ! BALLADS. 89 And round our king with shock and clash the fierce encounters close, Till o'er his sacred dust is reared a pyramid of foes. But who can tell what deeds were done ? There, after feats sublime, Fell Austria's bravest champion, the fiery Pap- penheim ; And hour by hour, and man to man, we fought with might and main, Till many a gallant regiment lay lifeless on the plain. So when the trumpet ceased, and the gloomy night came on; The foes had turned, the fight was o'er, the bloody field was won : And kneeling down bare-headed, our tears be- dewed the sod, And sobs and groans were mingled with praises to our God ; With praises to the Lord of Hosts, the avenger of the wrong, Who gives not honor to the proud, nor triumph to the strong; 8* 90 BALLADS. The Lord who counselled in his love, and ordered in his might, That he who led us forth that morn should come not hack at night. Now Austria — claim the laurels! now order, Ferdinand, Te Deums in Vienna, and through the Spanish land ! But ours the dear-bought victory — the glory and dismay, For which our good Gustavus' life was offered up that day ! BALLADS. 91 LAMENT OF ABD-EL-RHAMAN". VERSIFIED FROM A PROSE TRANSLATION. Abd-el-Rhaman-ben-Hixern, the first Moorish King of Spain, 755 A. D., embellished Cordova with many beautiful gardens ; in one of these he planted a palm tree, from which it is said all the palm trees in Spain have sprung. It is said, too, that one day fixing his eyes on this tree, and deeply moved with the remembrance of his native land, he poured forth these verses. stately palm ! across the main Thy land and mine lies far from Spain ; But thee, the western gales embrace, The air is pure, the sunlight gleams, No visions of thy native place Sweep o'er thy troubled leaves in dreams ; 92 BALLADS. Thou knowest not human change and hate Nor tremblest at the storms of fate. When fierce Al Abbas' wrath of yore Exiled me from my native shore, My tears fell fast on many a palm That by Euphrates' margin rose — The trees still bloom, the waves run calm And bear no record of my woes. O palm, bloom on ! in foreign lands Thou weepest not for our native sands. BALLADS. 93 FRANCIS II. AT GAETA. i. Or all the realm that owned thy sway And called thee monarch yesterday, Thou Bourbon King ! beside the sea To-day what is there left to thee ? One fortress, and the foeman's din Without, and pestilence within. ii. There leave to meaner lives to man The wall, and desperate sortie plan ; And gloating o'er the gold — the wealth Thy hasty flight bore off by stealth, Forget the crown that scarcely graced Thy brow, ere thence 'twas torn debased. 94 BALLADS. III. And they who rent the high command And sceptre from thy feeble hand — Leave them but freedom and their swords, They envy not the miser hoards That buy a shelter and a grave For thee and thine beyond the wave. Where Vistula's far waters glide Swift onward to the northern tide, The sovereigns three in council meet. In Poland's ancient royal seat, Thou Bourbon King ! there yet may be A hope for tyranny and thee. v. But no ! the sovereigns of the north Lead not their marshalled armies forth To snatch a spoil they may not share. They make no second Poland where Sardinian fleets at anchor ride By Reggio's wall and Arno's tide. BALLADS. 95 VI. And kings may now with kings alone Essay their strength and hold their own ; But that tremendous human will That makes and shatters crowns, their skill Is powerless to control or quell, As ocean's sand to curb her swell. And fair Sicilia, once the den Of Norman and of Saracen, By turns upon her hills has seen The Spaniard and the Anjouine; But never have her annals shown A darker shadow than thine own. VIII. Now on Sicilia's flowery sward Merrily are libations poured ; And maidens dance in Luna's light- O ! gentle are those bosoms white, Yet at thy name is scarce forborne On those soft lips the curl of scorn. 96 BALLADS. And in the palace once thine own A king is seated on a throne ; And they that hated thee and thine, And laughed at sovereigns' rights divine, Bear far his banners in the field And make their own bold breasts his shield. From north, and east, and south, see close Still narrowing round, the belt of foes, The mound is raised, and nigh and nigher The battery points its mouths of fire, And winged before the western breeze Sardinia's prows make -white the seas. XI. And midst them one at anchor lies O'er which the Kaiser's eagle flies, Thy country's tyrant once accurst, He offers thee the last, the worst, The shelter of her sable wing- To waft thee far, thou crownless king ! BALLADS. 97 Too long that lesson didst thou spurn The Bourbons aye were slow to learn ; Bent o'er the past's dead written word, The present's living voice unheard, With plain and earnest meaning fraught That other kings more quickly caught. The breaking of the feudal chain Resounds through Russia's broad domain, And Holland half redeems the day That gave her shores to regal sway : Deemed'st thou the hills of sun and vine Were in perpetual bondage thine ? Away ! and when the dark blue sea Rolls deep between thy land and thee, Remember what thou wert and art Till sickening sinks, subdued, thy heart, And from another's reign serene, Too late learn what thou might'st have been. 98 BALLADS. In the caliphate of Omar, the second in succession from the Prophet, the Saracens made the most rapid conquests. The Emperor Heraclius, fearful of losing Syria, sent Ma- han (or Manuel) with the Greek and Roman forces to op- pose them. It was a vain opposition. The final battle which decided the fate of Syria was fought on the banks of the Yermouk; it lasted several days, and ended in the total rout of the Christians. Khaled was the leader of the Saracen host. BALLADS. THE BATTLE OF YERMOUK. a. d. 636. Allah Achbar ! the foes are near, down with the Christian host ! In vain the Grecian phalanx forms, and Roman trumpets hoast. On Yermouk's side — on Yermouk's side where loud the battle clangs, To-day, O true believers, the fate of Syria hangs ! See yonder panoplies of gold, the purple-vested steed, 'Tis the imperial Mahan, his haughty heart shall bleed. On Saracens ! soon their red crests in redder blood we'll dye, And their rich robes at Omar's feet shall in Me- dina lie ! 100 BALLADS. Remember at Emessa how fiercely thundered down The Christians to the fight, and fled, or fell before their town. Think of Damascus' roses, her golden river's side, The plunder of Abyla, and Baalbec's towers of pride. See Khaled's eagle banner floats, and blaze his eagle eyes — See Paradise unfolds before ; behind, Jehennam lies. The Hur-al-Oyun* wait for those that press to-day the sod ; Down with the dogs of infidels ! there is no God but God! Soft are Arabia's melting maids and dark their houri glance ; For Islam's faith they wield to-day the scymitar and lance. * Houris. BALLADS. 101 For God and for his prophet charge ! shall men give way and yield, When maids and mothers dare the shock, and scour the bloody field ? Far to the south do iElia's * walls their sacred heads uprear, And Christians count their beads and watch by Jesu's sepulchre. There soon the Koran shall be heard, and there the muezzin's cry, And from their towers yon yellow flag of Mahomet shall fly. Allah Achbar! the foes are nigh, their arrows hide the sun ; How sweet the rest of Paradise when the good fight is done ! On ! to Jehennam speed their souls, their bodies to the sod ! Allah Achbar ! the day is ours, there is no God but God ! * Jerusalem. 102 JiALLADS. The history of no country presents so entirely an aspect of romance as the wars in Spain, waged for some cen- turies between the Moors and Christians. The most des- perate struggles, the most brilliant victories, the most disastrous defeats, form one tissue with hair-breadth escapes and personal reverses. Conspicuous ahioug the last is that of El Zagal, the Moorish king of Granada, whose possessions were invaded by Ferdinand. T Iis capital, Granada, was being convuls- ed, and his power undermined at the time by the factions of his nephew, Boabdil el Chico ; and with civil war threatening close around, he appears not to have appre- ciated the strength of the coming Christian foe, until warned by the inspired santon, Hamet Aben Zarrax. Afraid to leave his rival behind, and march out to meet Ferdinand, who was about to invest the city of Velez Malaga, he made a proposition to Boabdil, which was declined. Nothing remained, therefore, but to go him- self; and his unfortunate return is one instance more of the instability of a monarch's popularity. BALLADS. 103 EL ZAGAL. In Granada's marble street Crowds the holy Hamet greet ; 'Tis the Moorish king he seeks, To the Moorish king he speaks — ; Thou the Dame of king would'st boast, Yet wilt see the kingdom lost. 1 Lo ! from Cordova the band Led by crafty Ferdinand Works Granada woe and loss, Plants the banner of the cross On Granada's strongholds, won For Castile and Aragon. 104 BALLADS. "Where Bentomiz southward far Looks on Velez Malaga, Christian knights to battle call — Thou within the Alhambra's hall Idly sittest, contending still With thy kinsman Boabdil." Then the aged monarch spake — "Crown and throne will I forsake, And to Boabdil will yield, So he leads us to the field. Let him rout the Christian horde, And be called Granada's lord." "Boabdil! thy rival sends And this factious contest ends ; To thy rule he deigns to yield ; Thee will follow to the field ; Thou shalt rout the invading horde And be called Granada's lord." Bitterly the prince replied — Evil now mv life betide, BALLADS. 105 If 'tis placed his grasp within Who hath slain my sire and kin — Let him keep his crown and throne, And go forth to fight alone." Trumpets now have spread the alarms ; There is buckling on of arms, Neigh of steed and cymbal's din, And the Moors come gathering in. Twice ten thousand men in state Set forth from Granada's gate. And the royal town doth ring With the praises of the king ; Brave El Zagal's deeds they vaunt — Cowardly Boabdil they taunt ; One goes forth the foe to find — One, a dastard, lnrks behind. From Granada's topmost tower Sentries look forth hour by hour: 106 BALLADS. Alfaquis and aged men O'er the Vega strain their ken, For the tidings from afar, From fair Velez Malaga. Scattered o'er the Vega ride Messengers at eventide ; "White with foam, with blood-drops red, In the gate the steeds fall dead — "Woe — woe to Granada ! woe For El Zagal's overthrow ! " " In the night a tumult rose — Each glen bristling was with foes ; Each crag was a bale-fire's glare ; In the morning twilight, Avhere Was El Zagal and his host ? Vanished like a midnight ghost." Then a Moor uprose and said — " Curses on El Zagal's head, Who hath led to death and shame Bravest Moslem — men of fame ! BALLADS. 107 From the throne the traitor fling ! Long live Boabdil our king! " Boabdil ! the people's call Greets thee in the Albaycin's hall, Thee our rightful lord we own, Thine the sceptre and the throne. Who El Zagal dares extol In the dust his head shall roll." All the Aihambra blazed with light, For a king was crowned that night. Moorish nobles — Alfaquis Bring in pomp the city's keys ; But without the gateway high Four pale headless corses lie. And that night, by Xenil's flow A tired horseman journeyed slow. He — a king but yesterday Leading armies to the fray, Now with but a scanty train Wanders o'er the hills of Spain. 108 BALLADS. The battle of Kadesia took place in the 15th year of the Hegira, a. d. 635, and "■ is as famous," says Irving " among the Arabs, as that of Arbela among the Greeks." It was one of the many, in which, according to the Mos- lem creed, the end justified the means, and in which the youthful monarch of Persia, Yezdigird, was called on to embrace Mohammedanism, or prepare for battle. He chose the latter. Saad, who succeeded Mosenna in command, being una- ble, from sickness, to lead his Moslem host in person, overlooked the field from his tent, where he sat with his beautiful wife, the widow of Mosenna. Grieved at seeing so many gallant warriors fall, the ejaculation escaped her, "Alas! Mosenna Ibn Haris, where art thou?" Saad, stung by what he considered a reproach, struck her on the face with his dagger. BALLADS. 109 MOSENNA. Flushed with proud advantage won, Rust am leads his Persians on, And the Moslems faint and yield On Kadesia's bloody field. Where art thou, Mosenna ! Twice the daylight set and rose On the dead or grappling foes, Allah Achbar is the cry — Yet the faithful fall or fly, Where art thou, Mosenna ! 110 BALLADS. Who forgets the bold retreat O'er Euphrates' gory sheet — When for Islam's sacred trust Seven brave champions bit the dust? Where art thou, Mosenna! Then on Hirah's field the rout Rallied at Mosenna's shout, Loud the cries of " Allah " swell, By thy hand bold Mahran fell — Where art thou, Mosenna I Now, a panic fills the plain Strewn with bravest Moslems slain; See thy bride in shame and woe Outraged by a cruel blow — Where art thou, Mosenna ! Islam's banner wavers yet, And the ranks of Mahomet Scorned by infidels and cursed, ToAvards the desert are dispersed — Where art thou, Mosenna ! BALLADS. Ill But they rally ! Allah dart Courage iu each sinking heart, To the feet of Yezdigird Chase his vain luxurious herd ! Where art thou, Mosenna ! Then shall every Persian hall Echo to the Muezzin's call, To Medina there shall toil Caravans with Khosru's spoil. Where art thou, Mosenna ! And his splendor shall be shorn, And his empire shall be torn, Even as he the letter tore That the Prophet's envoy bore- Where art thou, Mosenna ! Does the Hur-al-Oyun's light Charm, in Paradise, thy sight ? Hast thou there nor care nor tear For great Allah's armies here ? Where art thou, Mosenna ! 112 BALLADS. The crime of Hakem seems to have been reliance on the word of Kaleb, a rebel in arms against the Moorish king, Al-Moundhir. Kaleb had taken possession of To- ledo, and Hakem was sent by the king with an army to dispossess him. On their approach, Kaleb entered into negotiations, and offered to retire, provided he was fur- nished with mules and other means of transportation. Hakem was deceived by the snare, saw Kaleb depart, and himself returned to Cordova, to report his bloodless victory. No sooner, however, was Kaleb left to himself, than he repossessed himself of the city. The event oc- curred in the latter part of the ninth century. BALLADS. H3 HAKEM. There is spurring o'er the mountains, there is riding far and fast, And the echo of the horse-hoofs to Cordova has passed, There are letters for Al-Moundhir, and his brow with anger lowers, For Kaleb and his rebel host have taken Toledo's towers. Fiercely the Moorish monarch cried--" Whose folly has wrought this ? Go drag the graybeard Hakem here, his headlong rashness 'tis. 114 BALLADS. I warned him that the rebels already false had played, Yet scorned he my advices, and a treaty with them made." " Hakem ! the sovereign summons thee, with grief and anguish sore, For of fair Toledo captured the blame lies at thy door ; In vain thy long white beard will plead, in vain thy labors done, He longs to see thy hoary head his palace gate upon." Hakem knew well the monarch's mood, nor dared he longer stay ; He mounts his steed to fly — and speeds through Cordova away, But in the gate the courser fell, and threw him lifeless down, And when he wakened from his trance he met the monarch's frown. BALLADS. 115 The king in fury spoke— " Thou well the rebels' cause hast served By thy imprudence, and the arm of order hast unnerved; The blood that's spilt fall back upon thy head ! and let thy death Teach men that law and wisdom wait upon a monarch's breath ! " " Great king ! I've served thee, as I served thy sire for many a day ; Twice twenty years of faithful toil have worn my life away ; If ill or errors have ensued that I could not fore- see, Still all I've done has been the best I knew for Spain and thee." Brave Hakem, little reck thy words! a fate hangs o'er thy head ; Didst thou not boldly dare to weep when Muha- med lay dead ? 116 BALLADS. Thy gentle rule do not the Moors love well ? Shall monarchs brook The people shall on any but themselves with favor look? The guards have bound thee, and into the outer court have ta'en, And by the royal will their swords have rent thy neck in twain ; And all through Cordova is sound of weeping and of dread, To see fixed on the palace gate the hoary beard and head. The king stalks silent in his halls, and through each street and way The Moors come riding gloomily and armed for bloody fray ; And round the gates the old men meet in terror whispering low, As hour by hour comes spurring in some messen- ger of woe. TRANSLATIONS TRANSLATIONS. 119 TO SPRING. (from anacreon.) See— before the appearing spring Bounteous Graces scatter roses, Ocean's billow— softening To a calm — reposes. S ee __the duck is on the stream, And the crane is on the wing ; Fleecy clouds fly quivering From the sun's warm shining beam. Now too shines man's patient toil Where with produce swells the soil. Now puts forth the olive shoot, Bacchus' cup is crowned ; And o'erborne with ripening fruit Leaves and branches sweep the ground, 120 TRANSLATIONS. TO THE ROSE. (from anacrbon.) Rose ! the Loves' own rose ! Mingle with the wine we're quaffing ! Rose of beauteous leaves that blows, Binding round our temples close Drink we, gaily laughing. Rose of beauty rare ! Rose, spring's tenderest care ! Even the gods pronounce thee fair. Roses Venus' son entwining Round his curling locks and shining With the Graces linked, advances. Crown me, then, and near thy shrine Playing, thou god of wine, Where the rich-robed maiden glances, In wreathed roses will I shine, And adorned, lead up the dances. TRANSLATIONS. 121 FEOM HECUBA. {Chorus of Captive Trojan Women.) BTBOI-IIE I. O, Ilium ! Ilium ! thou no more art called The city of the unconquered ! A dense cloud Of Greeks enveloped thy devoted wall, And with the spear lay waste thy bulwarks proud ; Thy crown of towers is shorn, the woful stain Of ashes has begrimed that pleasant plain These hapless feet shall press— O, ne'er again ! 122 TRANSLATIONS. ANTI6TR0PHE I. At do ad of night I perished, when upon The eyes, sweet slumber, from long feasting, falls; My lord, the songs and sacrifices done, Lay on his couch, his spear hung on the wall ; He sees not the strange nautic crowd that meets In Ilium's silent and deserted streets. STROPHE II. I the gold mirror's dazzling circle eyed, My tresses in enclasping fillets hound For night — and on my downy pillow's side Just was I sinking for repose profound. When hark ! throughout the city far and wide The air was filled with a tumultuous sound — A voice through Troy resounded — "Sons of Greece ! When will ye raze these towers and seek your homes in peace?" TRANSLATIONS. ANTISTEOPHE II. 123 In single vesture my dear couch I left Even as a Doric maiden to adore Great Artemis. Ah hapless I— bereft Of safety ! ere my orison was o'er I was torn thence, my bridegroom in his gore I saw, they dragged me weeping to the shore— The vessel lifts its anchor swift, and flies, And Ilium's walls fade from my fainting eyes. EPODE. O be the name forevermore accursed Of the Idean, and accursed be The Dioscuri's sister ! o'er the sea, The salt sea foam, Ne'er may she greet again the land that nursed Her childhood, nor re-tread her beauteous home. Her false, false bridal, wrought out by some hand Of vengeful destiny, beyond the deep Exiles me from my native land, And seals my eyes in unawakening sleep ! 124 TRANSLATIONS. CHORUS FROM HECUBA. Gale of the sea, gale of the sea, "Wafting the swift barks o'er the surge Bounding on from verge to verge Of ocean's wave ! Whither so swiftly bearest thou me ? To what home — ah haplessly — Do I go — a purchased slave ? To the Doric port, to the Phthian shore, Where Apidanus 1 stream, they say, Through rich plains winds its beauteous way? Whither, away — with the maritime oar? TRANSLATIONS. 125 Or to that isle where the palin first sprung And (emblems of the birth divine) The laurel's hallowed branch first clung Round loved Latona's shrine ? There shall I weeping, wear away My soul in slavery's woful day, There sick at heart amid a throng Of Delian nymphs, intone in song Immortal Artemis the chaste, With bow and golden fillet graced? Or in Athenian halls to ply The labors of the gorgeous loom, And make, on robes of saffron dye, The varied flower-wrought broideries bloom^ Depicting Pallas onward whirled — Her steeds— her beauteous chariot's sweep, Or Titans, by Zeus' thunder hurled To their eternal sleep ? Alas, my children ! and alas, my sires ! Alas, my country ! how deplored— how dear ! In sable smoke thy glorious day expires, Thou desolated by the Argeian spear ! 126 TR ANSL ATI ON S . Far from thy strand A captive am I borne o'er ocean's wave, And leave thee too, my fatherland, Like me — a slave ! Farewell! Far over ocean's swell, beauteous Asia ! Europe's slave, farewell- 1 leave my bridal chamber for the grave ! TRANSLATIONS. 127 FROM A CHORUS IN ALCESTIS. Daughter of Pelias! farewell, farewell! The sunless halls of Dis receive thy tread. But let the dark-haired monarch of the dead And the grim, silent ferryman of hell, Who sits intent on rudder and on oar, Wafting the spectres to the sable shore, Know how beloved, how sweet, how chaste a bride To-day floats o'er the Acheronian tide. Thee shall the servants of the Muses sing, The seven-toned lute shall on the mountains sound, And soft hymns rise when silent sleeps the string 128 TRANSLATIONS. In Sparta, when, the annual circle crowned, The season brings the Carnean feast around ; And through the livelong night the moonbeams rest On Athens — the magnificent and blest. O that my voice could reach thee on the shores Of darkness where the hoarse Cocytus roars ! O that my tears could touch thee in the hall Of Hades, and recall thy steps above, As thou — O unexampled! didst recall Thy bridegroom peerless in thy death and love ! The mother shrinking from the realms unknown, And hoary-headed sire the quest deny, She in the pride of youth and joy alone Refused not for her best beloved to die. TRANSLATIONS. 129 FROM A CHORUS W ALCESTIS. Upbokne far through the Muses 1 land And touching many a theme, I learn, 'tis but an idle dream 'Gainst Destiny to stand. not the Thracian tablets that of old Orpheus deigned engrave, Nor the medicinal drugs Apollo gave To Esculapius' children — hold A charm to save. To her dread altars are no offerings sent, To them no footstep turns — Before her sculptured form no knee is bent, The sacrifice she spurns. 6* 130 TRANSLATIONS. And thee, Admetus ! thee a fate most dread Inevitable grasps — yet bear — nor weep, Tears will not wake the dead — Lo ! in the grave the god-begotten sleep. For thee did earth's most beauteous blossom bloom, How loved in life ! how worshipped in the tomb ! Count not that tomb as a cold dead stone That covers a cold dead dust ; Thither shall come the pilgrim lone As to some god's pure shrine, and own Her name with prayer and trust. And travellers turning from their way Will kneel by the hallowed place and say — " In olden time she perished for her lord, And now on high She sits adored — Hail ! be propitious, blest Divinity ! " TRANSLATIONS. 131 HARALD THE VALIANT. Abound Sicilia's fertile shore My brown ship filled with warriors brave, In splendid state, with sail and oar Skimmed rapidly the wave. I thought my sails for fight arrayed Would never slacken on the main ; And yet— and yet a Russian maid Looks on me with disdain. With Drontbeim's hosts in youth I fought, Unequal battle did we wage, Superior odds the foeman brought And fearful was the rage. 132 TRANSLATIONS. Young as I was, my trusty blade Left their bold monarch mid the slain ; And yet — and yet a Russian maid Looks on me with disdain. One day, twice eight we were on borrd, A tempest rose and swelled the sea, The waves upon our vessel poured, "We cleared it faithfully ; Thence brightest hopes around me played Alas! that brightest hopes are vain ! And yet — and yet a Russian maid Looks on me with disdain. Eight exercises I perform — On horse I boldly scour the field, I bravely meet the battle storm, And lance and oar can wield ; I swim the breakers undismayed, And skim on skates the frozen plain, And yet — and yet a Russian maid Looks on me with disdain. TRANSLATIONS. 133 What maid or widow can deny — When southward of the city height, As ruddy morning streaked the sky — Closed in the ranks of fight, I bravely fought ? rich trophies paid My prowess gainst the hostile train, And yet — and yet a Russian maid Looks on me with disdain. In Norway's uplands was I born "Where well the warriors bend the bow, Now trembling landsmen mark at dawn My anchored ships below. Their keels have many a furrow laid In oceans, far from man's domain, And yet — and yet a Russian maid Looks on me with disdain. 134 TRANSLATIONS. THE FUNERAL SONG OF HACON. Gondul— lo ! and Scogul wait, Mighty goddesses of fate, Sent by Odin's mandate forth Mid the sovereigns of the north One of Yngvon's race to call To the eternal banquet hall. They Biorno's brother found All unarmed on battle ground ; His proud banner shades him o'er, Fast the foemen fall before, Brandished swords flash in the sun, And the conflict is begun. Haleyg's dwellers does he call— And the island dwellers all ; TRANSLATIONS. 135 Prince- destroyer, see him ride With his Norsemen by his side, 'Neath his helmet grim he smiles "Waster of the Danish isles. The brave king had on the field Thrown his golden casque and shield, With the princes — sons of fame — Mingling in heroic game, "When the battle's thunder-tone Called him forth to guard his throne. See the king's good weapon pass Through the mail and through the brass As through mountain streams 'twere sent ; Javelins clash, stout shields are rent, On the helmet and the brain Deadly strokes come down like rain. Tyr and Bauga ! gods of war ! Lo ! your javelins shivered are. Lo ! in Storda's isle they join, And the kings break through the line — 136 TRANSLATIONS. Through the fence of shields that stood, Staining them with human blood. Swords wax hot, red wounds distend, O'er men's lives the long shields bend, Spears on Storda's reeking shore Eed the battle deluge pour ; On that promontory high Heaps of wounded warriors lie. Gory wounds they scorn, they toil Wrestling for the battle spoil. Fiercely rages Odin's storm, Still the blood runs swift and warm, Still hot swords their labors ply, Still the many heroes die. Then the chiefs sate on the field — Blunted sword and shattered shield — Cloven were their coats of mail Where the arrows fell like hail. No more dares the host to hope Will Walhalla's portals ope. TRANSLATIONS. 137 Gondul on her lance leans near, And she speaks these words of cheer : " !STow the gods' eternal feast They decree shall be increased — Hacon and his host I call To the eternal banquet hall." Those fair nymphs does Hacon hear, Seated on their war-steeds near. Clothed in helmet and in shield, Full of thought they scan the field. Hacon speaks — " goddess, say, Why thus close the battle day, With more glorious fate unblest ? " Scogul ansvfers — " Be at rest ; By my hand thy foes undone, See thy fame and triumph won. " Sister — sister — swiftly ride Through the gods' green empires wide, To all-potent Odin say Hacon treads the lonely way." 138 TRANSLATIONS. Thus commands the all-potent — "Speed- Brago and Hermode, lead — Lead the approaching warrior guest, Hail him to the halls of rest." Now the king within the hall Stands besprent with carnage all, Sees the mighty Odin near — Odin terrible — severe. Brago greets him — " Fear not thou — Thine are peace and glory now. Here with gods and heroes pour Brimming mead forevermore. Lo ! within "Walhalla's gate Thee thine eight bold brethren wait." Hark ! the hero's proud behest — " Leave my hauberk on my breast ; Coat of mail and helmet fair Ever should the warrior wear, TRANSLATIONS. 139 And the good sword of the North Ready ever to leap forth." Now is seen how well that heart Bore in life its noble part. The great conclave of the skies And the lesser gods uprise, The new guest with shouts they greet, And prepare an equal seat. Blest the monarch's day of birth When even gods revere his worth ; Even the age that saw his fame Shares the memory of his name. Through the world, through man's domains, The wolf Feuris freed from chains Fearful re veilings shall hold, Ere a king so good, so bold, Treads again the lonely road Leading to the gods' abode. 140 TRANSLATIONS. Riches perish ; dust in dust Sleep the kindred hearts we trust ; Kingdoms wasted meet their doom Many nations sit in gloom ; With the gods does Hacon dwell, Glorious — inaccessible. TR ANSL ATI ONS . 141 NOTE TO HARALD. Harald Hardraada, who reigned in Norway in the 11th century, a poet as well as a king, during a warlike expedition which he made to Sicily, the Euxine Sea, and Africa, composed a poem which consisted originally of sixteen verses. The Russian Maid was Elizabeth, daughter of Jarizlaus, king of Holmgard, a princess whom he afterward married. It was this same Harald who, after the death of Ed- ward the Confessor, invaded England, and was killed in a battle near York. His poetic genius did not desert him at the last, for it is said that just entering into the engage- ment he chanted the following verse : " On and away — Speed to the fray ! Nor breast-plate we wear In the sword-light glare. 142 TRANSLATIONS. The helmets shine ; That armor of mine With its rich-wrought device In my good ship lies." "A rude unpolished verse have I sung," said he, " now must I make another and a better one." Then he con- tinued : " There is death on the plain ; with mighty din The Virgin Hillda* bids begin The fight, she calls — she urges in Where sharp bright weapons crowd. She stands 1 neath the hollow-breasted shield, She shouts, the shock is on the field, Cer the head the glittering sword they wield, The clash of steel is loud. The above is taken from Sxorro Stukleson (Latin translation). Six verses of Harald's song are preserved by Bartho- lin, who adds a Latin translation. The following is the first verse. I. Sneid fyrir Sikiley vida sud varum J»a prudir brunn skreid vel til vanar 'The northern goddess of war. TRANSLATIONS. 143 vengis hiortr und drengiuiu vaetti ek midr at motti muni enn hannigrenna ho laetr gerdr i gordum gollhrings vid mer skolla. [. Circuivit Sicilian! passim navis, turn magniflce fuimus fusca meavit propere pro spe nostra, navis sub viris, spero ego, con- ventus memor, earn exinde ita cursuram, attamen virgo Eus- sica me respuit. NOTE TO HACON. Hacon the Good is well known in history. He was a brave and skilful warrior, and subjected all Norway to his power. His reigu was loug and prosperous, but was disturbed by the sons of his brother Eric, who, taking up their abode in Denmark, made frequent attacks on his kingdom. Hacon was a Christian, and endeavored to per- suade his people to embrace Christianity, but met with strong opposition. He was feasting in the island of Storda, his native place, when messengers arrived announcing the approach of a large army led by oue of the sons of Eric. He im- mediately engaged the enemy and put them to flight, but was himself mortally wounded. Taken into his ship he 144 TRANSLATIONS. soon expired. Ilis last words were—" Had a longer life been granted to me, I would have left my kingdom and country, and seeking the society of Christian men, would have expiated the faults I have committed against God. If, however, I am to die here among Pagans, pay the just dues to the dead, in the manner that shall seem best to you." He died a. d. 963. This song was composed on bis death by the celebrated Eyvixdr Skalldaspillir. It is one of the oldest speci- mens of Norwegian poetry, and is given entire in Sxorro Sturlesox's Saga Hakonar Goda. This poem illustrates the popular belief of the ancient Norsemen, that Odin sent his Yalkyrjor before a battle to choose those who were to fall in the conflict, and to conduct their souls after death to Valhalla.