.'S POEMS AND BALLADS FOR PENNY READINGS (Driginal anir S^ranslattb from ih §exmmx By AGRA J^L^ LONDON WYMAN & SONS, 74-76, GREAT QUEEN ST. LINCOLN'S-INN FIELDS 1883 WVMAN AND SONS, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREET, L1NC0LN'S-1NN FIELDS, LONDON, W.C. CONTENTS. Tel-el-Kebir The Cross of St. George The Alchymist A Legend of the Alps The Water-Logged Barque The Poet's Home Two Sonnets The Legend of the Lac de Bret ... Luther and Freundsberg The Midshipman and the Belle of the The Emperor and the Abbot Norfall's Tower ■ Count Eberstein Bertran de Born The Youxg Lord and the Miller's Maid The Youth and the Millstream ... The Count De Greiers Durand The Wandering Bell The Skeleton Dance The Castellan De Coucy Trusty Old Eckart Harald T]ie Elves I 4 . .. II ... . 16 ... 27 ... • 38 • 43 • 45 52 Ball . . 62 . 64 • 74 . 82 • 85 D • 89 • 91 •• 95 ... • 99 ... .. 103 .. 105 .. 108 • 115 ... . 118 . 122 881884 TEL-EL-KEBIR. [Lieutenant Harvey Goodwin Brookes, of the Gordon High- landers, fell at Tel-el-Kebir pierced by four rifle-balls, leading his men with no other weapon than a spade, having lost his claymore in the sand. His body was found twenty yards beyond the first trench.] Bury him here in the blood-stain'd sand, On the spot where he bravely fell ; With his broken spade in his cold right hand, The spade that he swung so well. fL We halted our march through the starlit night One hour, the attack to form ; Gleam'd bright in his eye the battle light. And he burn'd for the coming storm. '^ p. TEL-EL-KERIR. The word to advance pass'd whisper'd down Our determined and silent ranks ; The bristhng earthworks before us frown, A grey line of low sandy banks. He had laid him down on the ground to rest, With his claymore by his side ; To the assault his kilted warriors prcss'd, Where he as a hero died. In the dawning twilight his buried blade Was not at the moment found, But he seized for the charge a sapper's spade, And the earthwork foremost crown'd. The battle was won ere the sun arose — We found him among the dead — In the thick of the fray, in the midst of foes, Had his hero spirit fled. TEL-EL-KEBIR. Then bury him here in the blood-stain'd sand, On the spot where he bravely fell ; With his broken spade in his cold right hand, The spade that he swung so well. B 2 THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. What Englishman can ever look upon St. George's Ensign from the masthead streaming — The glorious Flag that thousand fights has won, Foremost in War and Venture ever gleaming, O'er Earth's most distant seas and headlands beaming, The hallow'd emblem of our Liberty Achieved while other nations still were dreaming, Lock'd tight in tyrant bonds of slavery, With scarce a thought, a wish, with no hope to be free? THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. 5 ^^'here is the man who e'er can look upon That blood-red Cross upon its snow-white field, Without a thrill of pride, a quicker run Of tingling currents through the veins that yield Transport ecstatic ? — On the warrior's shield It fiercely blazed eight hundred years ago, ^^'hen in the First Crusade the Normans wield The Viking's sword against the Paynim foe, And Saxon archers draw the dreaded English rz^ bow. It waved across the sunny plains of France Where Edward and the dauntless Harry led, Not tenfold odds could stay its bold advance — Cressy and Poictiers' fields bright lustre shed — Beneath its folds noble and yeoman bled, Gentle and simple, all like heroes fought In stubborn rank, until the foeman fled — Their valorous deeds were we as children taught — Our infants proudly lisp the name of Agincourt. 6 THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. From every port impatiently it leapt, As beacons' flare the long-sought signal flash'd That up the Channel the Armada swept, And loud each tower and rocking steeple clash'd — Breathless the world look'd on The thunders crash'd, And battle-fires and lightnings lit the main, Straight at the Golden Flag the Red Cross dash'd, And smoke hid both, and storm But when again The clouds dispersed, where was the vaunted might of Spain ? Then love of venture gallant spirits spurr'd To dare all dangers for Old England's sake ; For ever flourish — each a household word, Gilbert and Hawkins, Frobisher and Drake, Heart - stirring names — Raleigh and generous Blake— They won for us the Ocean's sovereignty. Forced Commerce her old channels to forsake, Made golden outlets for our industry. Bearing St. George's Cross aloft from sea to sea. THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. 7 Lo ! Bannockbarn and Flodden both forgot, Under resistless Marlborough, fight their way Now side by side, the Englishman and Scot Far into Europe's heart, and gain the day. Blenheim, Ramilies, Oudenard, and Malplaquet Are victories with which the whole world rings — And shining there with clear and silver ray, On England's crimson Cross, St. Andrew's clings, And vanquish'd in the dust the Golden Lilies flings. The wedded Crosses conquer Hindostan, To rule it wisely for her people's gain — Complete what Alexander but began ; — While Britain's Ocean-sovereignty again Great-hearted Nelson does for her maintain. Victorious at the Nile, her Crosses fly — • Then Erin joins, to humble France and Spain, Trafalgar sees the Red Cross hoisted high, The Old White Flag 'neath which the Hero chose to die.* * Nelson ordered the White Ensign to be flown at Trafalgar, -the Old Flag, as he fondly called it. 8 THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. For see, the Irishman was not content Till he had fasten'd on the two combined His symbol. — Forth the perfect Flag is sent, Its errand now to liberate mankind — 'Tis Ireland's joy the mighty Chief to find, Great Wellington — he only can o'erthrovv The Tyrant, who so haughtily design'd To force all nations "neath his yoke to go.— - Our Crosses not in vain waved there at Water- loo ! Well has the world good cause indeed to bless That Flag — and well may all the nations own To Britain's blood-stain'd Cross indebtedness ! — It hurl'd the proud Usurper from his throne. The Lord of Millions doom'd to pine alone ; It loosed the cursed bonds of slavery, And sanctified each spot where it was flown ; Could but the negro reach it he was free, The Red Cross Banner gave the slave his liberty. THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. 9 Americans ! They were your sires that fought, Above whom England's Red Cross proudly flew, At Cressy, Poictiers, and at Agincourt ; Her boldest spirits sail'd the seas for you — A share ye claim in Marlborough's victories too. Kindred with those who turn'd the nation's fate Both at Trafalgar and at Waterloo — Your fathers' Flag will ye repudiate ? Nay ! Let it all their sons once more confe- derate. The Stars and Stripes your Empire's sign ye fly, The Flag that mark'd your Independence won, It cherish still, your Ensign rear on high — • But ye will add, ere many years have run, Old England's Cross, as ye should first have done — And it shall be the bond of unity That shall make all the English peoples One — • Far mightier shall the noble Union be Than Munroe ever dream'd, on land supreme and sea ! lO THE CROSS OF ST. GEORGE. Then shall the world with envy look upon St. George's Ensign from each masthead streaming — The Flag that thousand glorious fights has won — Foremost in Trade and Venture see it gleaming, O'er Earth's most distant seas and headlands beaming, The hallow'd emblem of our Liberty Achieved while other nations still were dreaming, Lock'd tight in tyrant bonds of slavery — With scarce a thought, a wish, with no hope to be free. II THE ALCHYMIST. The Alchymist sat in his turret alone, And he quaff'd of his golden wine ; All his life had he look'd for the wondrous stone, The philosopher's stone divine. He had spent his resources, was now grown old— That he had not found it need hardly be told. But he did not despair, the older he grew The closer he studied his art. And he hoped to be able his youth to renew, The stone would fresh vigour impart. For, were it but found, men would no longer age ; And it was to be found — so taught every sage. 12 THE AT-CHYMIST. He had lived seventy years a solitary life In the hope of good times to come ; No friends had he made, nor yet taken a wife, Caring nought for the joys of home. He would first find the stone, and then he would wed, And revel in youth, wealth, and beauty, he said. But, though neither wife nor yet friends he possess'd, Although he had now spent his store ; With a cask of rare wine was the old man blest, And with that what could he want more ? As he drank it his blood coursed fast through his veins, His youth was renew'd, for it banish'd his pains. And he lifted the goblet up to the light. And he dwelt on its golden hues, ( And he ponder'd upon the sense of delight And the warmth that the draughts suffuse — For it was the rarest, best vintage of wine. Matured on the slopes of the sunny, blue Rhine. THE ALCHYMIST. I3 And while he still gazed on the rich golden flood, There suddenly flash'd through his brain A thought that set boiling his old sluggish blood ; The stone he would surely )'et gain ; For its essence was there in the goblet's shine, And the stone that he sought was petrified wine. So at once he set to the wine to congeal, And he wrought both early and late. And he grudged time for sleep, and hurried o'er meal. But him mock'd still relentless Fate. — At last, ere the cask was quite spent, I am told, He made not the stone, but succeeded with gold. But the wine was so rare, the gold it had made Was not half enough to suffice, For a smaller cask of the wine it was paid, For that vintage had risen in price ; And the more that he used the higher it went. Till at last all the wine and the gold was spent. 14 THE ALCHYMIST. But the stone was not found, and old age crept on, And death by starvation drew nigh, And the Alchymist felt that his course was run. And he heaved a long, deep-drawn sigh, To think the idea had not struck him before, While life lay before him, unwasted his store. My friends, ye will laugh at the Alchymist's craze, And hasten his folly to blame ; But do ye deserve, friends, yourselves better praise, And can ye equality claim ? He spent all his substance the stone for to find — He yielded his life to do good to mankind. But ye, in your sordid desire for mere wealth. Spend your lives in seeking for gold, For selfish aggrandisement sacrifice health — And what gain ye when all is told ? From happiness here e'en on earth ye are far — From future delights ye yourself thus debar. THE ALCHYMIST. 15 List, then, to the sequel. An angel stood b}', Took charge of the Alchymist's soul — Wide open before them Heaven's pearly gates fly, Back the bars and the bolts all roll — And the Alchymist finds there the long-sought stone, And a gold'ner wine, far more rare than his own. i6 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. It chanced that I, on pleasure bent, one summer holiday, High on an Alpine mountain-road, light- hearted took my way. Impell'd, as wand'rers ever are, by scenery sublime, I left the broad and levell'd road, a giddy path to climb. Upon the mountain's snow-clad side, in dizzy altitude, A monastery chapel hung, in frozen soli- tude. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. I J And as I pass'd its open doors I stopp'd in sheer amaze, A Magdalena, wondrous fair, held riveted my gaze. -^ I saw no more the mountain crests glowing in' rosy light, Art more than nature filled my soul with rapturous delignt. I dare not as an artist may to cunning make pretence, That altar-piece the beautiful fulfill'd in every sense. I cannot even the spell describe it cast upon my soul, Perfection in each detail glow'd, perfection crown'd the whole, c l8 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. It seem'd in truth a living maid, the woman kneeling there, Her tear-stain'd face upturn'd above, her hands tight clasp'd in prayer. Her hair stream'd wild, her eyes were closed, she dared not look to Heaven, Repentance struggled with the fear lest she were unforgiven. Long, long I gazed upon the scene, until the verger came, And then, at length, I turn'd to ask what was the painter's name. "You well may ask," he answer'd me, "but I can not reply ; He was at least a master hand, that no man will deny. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. I9 " 'Tis strange that neither canvas bears, nor yet the gilded frame, Letters or mark by which were known the artist's boasted name. "But see in yonder corner, where the paint is worn away, There, in the years long since gone by, 'twas written, so they say. " And, if you like to list a while, the tale I'll briefly tell, What here before the altar stone once on a time befell. " A Bishop of our Holy Church this Chapel wish'd to build, And he desired an altar-piece by master-hand so skill'd, c 2 20 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS, " That all who on his picture gaze, in heartfelt penitence, May feel within their sorrowing souls of sins wash'd out the sense. " But where, throughout all Christendom, might such a man be found ? He knew of only one, whose powers were far and wide renown'd. " To him the holy prelate went — sad is the tale I tell, The master led a godless life, — he was an infidel. "Worse than a heathen, nothing more for Holy Church he cared, — Never by prayer or penances for future weal prepared. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. H " And he at first refused outright the bishop's proud behest, Nor could his gold persuade the man to yield to his request ; " Until the holy father spread, with ready guile, this rumour, — That dread of failure, more than all, accounted for his humour. " Then only he commenced the work, his genius thus attainted. And with most wondrous, marvellous skill, this altar- piece he painted. " But, in his pride and misbelief, beneath the golden frame, He added words of blasphemy, below his written name. 2 2 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. "'Not for God's honour have I wrought; for the glory of my art ' — He wrote in boastful letters there, with swelling, haughty heart. "Soon afterwards the master died, and mark well now this story, And God has power to turn, you'll find, even blas- phemy to His glory. "The painter died, — but in the grave no rest could there he find, Who in the course of his long life, ne'er work for God design'd. "Too late he strove, too late, in vain he painted every night. Until the mountain tops were tinged with dawn's first rosy light. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 23 " Although his wondrous genius still more pictures wrought so fair, Vanish'd the ghostly colours all each morning into air. " At the shrill cock's first warning crow, no longer dared they stay, — Painter and canvas, easel, brush, — they faded all away. " One day unto our mountain shrine a lonely woman came, Her dress was worn, in rags, thread-bare, slowly she ■ walk'd, and lame. "Veiling her pale and careworn face, stream'd loosely down her hair, And in the light of her wild eyes the fires of guilt were there. 24 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. " With falt'ring step and downcast look the narrow aisle she trode, To Palestine, on penance bent, was stretch'd her weary road. "She knelt before the Magdalene, and raised her gleaming eyes, — Then all at once her soul burst forth in agonising cries. '• For in the weeping penitent above the altar shown, She recognised the features traced, for they were once her own, " When young and beautiful and gay she ever dainty fared, And deck'd with costly gems and silks, the master's life she shared. A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 25 " There ^Yas the name beloved, and there, the golden frame below, Lay hid, as well she knew, those words, the cause of all the woe. " She fell upon the picture fair, her tears stream'd down in rain, — Could penance now no more avail, was penitence in vain ? "All day before the altar-stone upon the ground she lay; At eve they came to lead her forth — her soul had pass'd away. •' But in the picture corner, there, where yet the paint is blurr'd. Her scalding tears wash'd out the name, and that vain-glorious word. 26 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. " The only written letters left, traced by the master's hand, Beneath the massive golden frame, now, " for God's honour" stand. "His work accepted thus by Heaven, he found at last his rest. His soul, though here his name is lost, we dare to hope is blest." 27 THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. (From an account in the papers.) O'er the blue waves of the heaving sea, Under press of sail, she bounded free ; The good ship's timbers were sound and tight, And the skipper's heart beat high with glee. The wind was fair, and the sky was bright, And the sailors sung loud in chorus their song. They were homeward bound, and she plough'd fast along. Verily, it was a noble sight To view from the deck her canvas white ; Pile upon pile still loftier spread, Till the royals, glancing in the light Of the morning sun, high overhead. To us hardly bigger appear'd than the hand, — A mountain of snow inexpressibly grand. 28 THE WATER-LOGGED I!ARQUE. While the foresail, bulging out before, Swell'd in the breeze still more and more, Seem'd as it were a cathedral dome Dark in the shadow. The vessel tore Fast through the sea with a wake of foam. And the splash of the waves on her side that beat Made a gurgling music surpassingly sweet. But too little time had we to gaze On the snow-white canvas' towering maze. To list to the waves' bewitching sound. The skipper look'd at the gathering haze, Then swept the horizon all around, And he spoke to the mate, who sung out the hail, " Get in the flying jib, and the gaff top-sail." Succeeding orders then follow'd fast. The mainsail was stow'd ere noon was past, And soon all hands were call'd from below, The ship was stripp'd and close-reef'd at last : The weather changed, it began to blow. And the .sky was obscured by thin clouds like smoke, As all of a sudden the hurricane broke. THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. 29 And fiercer still the wild storm-blast grew, The sea changed at once from deepest blue To a dark and greasy, sloppy green, Then again like magic changed its hue, Nought but a white waste of foam was seen. As squall follow'd on squall in infernal roar, — Such an awful tumult I'd ne'er heard before. The close-reef'd topsails to shreds were torn. We thought each moment the masts were gone. Upon her beam ends the barque was thrown — Who would have said such a glorious morn Could turn to wildest night ever known ? And who e'er would have thought but a few hours past That such fearful weather for a week could last? Each time that the watch was call'd, we thought We'd seen the worst, as our berths we sought ; That when again upon deck we came A change of weather were surely wrought — But no, it raged still ever the same. Still day after day the fierce hurricane blew, Till, spent and worn out, oh how weary we grew ! 30 THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. Weary of bitter, cold, searching wind, From which no shelter was there to find — Of the jumping seas and blinding spray, The roar of the waves and storm combined. Each night how we long'd again for day, But it seem'd to grow fiercer with dawning light, Then we hoped for a change with the coming night. A small storm trysail, and, that set low, Was all the canvas we dared to show. Hove to under which laid down was she ; Though now and then, when it ceased to blow, Or when lifted by a huger sea, We righted a moment — but only to fall Down flat with a jerk that electrified all. And day by day the fierce blast kept on, It seem'd the storm would never be done ; Sometimes it luU'd, but only to breathe For savager burst, and wilder run Of hissing waters that boiling seethe. Of curling black billows with crests breaking white, - Huge mountains of water, a terrible sight. THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. 3 1 Word pass'd one morning we'd sprung a leak, As the news went round blanch'd every cheek, And even the bravest held their breath — For if it were true 'twere vain to seek Any longer escape from present death. Exposed in the rigging — 'twas awful to think That our cargo was such that she could not smk. We mann'd the pumps, but we work'd in vain, We found every hour the water gain, Mocking our efforts, a stronger hold : For days we kept up the fearful strain. Till the useless toil severely told, ' We left off exhausted, worn out, one by one, — The skipper admitted no more could be done. And indeed 'twas time, the decks were swept By every wave that in fury leapt Over the bulwarks in angry storm ; All huddled close on the poop we crept. The very picture of woe to form — Lash'd tight to the railing, in misery to wait, Half drown'd by the seas, a most terrible fate. 32 THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. And then it was that we vvish'd she'd sink, But knew she would not — there on the brink Of death ever present days we stood, Lash'd to the poop-rails — the only link A paltry support of fragile wood That connected us now with the human world, While the angry white billows around us curl'd. We heard ghostly shrieks and flapping wings, It seem'd we had done with earthly things, We saw such sights as never before — Dread shapes that wild delirium brings, Sounds horrid above the tempest's roar. It were hard now to think which was worst to bear, The black terrors of night or the day's despair. She lay like a corpse upon the sea — Our strait more desperate could not be. As on the poop just above the wave We stood in our dire extremity ; Shut in all round in an open grave — For green walls of water on every side tower'd And over our heads the black tempest pall lour'd. THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. 33, I know not how long a time thus pass'd ; But the gale gave way one day at last, And our well-nigh sinking spirits rose : We hoisted the flag half up the mast Jack-down — out bravely the signal blows — As we rise on the waves we see through the spray A vessel some leagues to the windward away. Who can describe the desponding sense That we were doom'd to experience, What anguish with ours can one compare ? It to depict I make no pretence — We watch'd her all day, she still was there ; But hove to it seem'd, for she kept the same spot, It was plain to us all, they observed us not. As for hours we strain our aching eyes To keep up our hopes the captain tries : " Better our chance with the coming night, Our flare will show in the darken'd skies, They will not fail to see a blue light ! " He spoke thus to cheer us, we needed it sore, For lower our spirits had sunk than before. D 34 THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. We got together a heap of wood, And dried some splinters as best we could ; Once lit, the breeze soon blew up a flame. And round the blaze more hopeful we stood — No answering gleams from the distance came, Our blue lights were burn'd, and our flare died away — How we peer'd through the gloom, and long'd for the day ! Voices at times we fancied we heard, And cheer'd each other with joyful word, Listening and watching the long night through ; But nought they proved, — the cry of a bird, The rigging's hum, as fiercer it blew — Still we caught at each sound with a maddening pain. For our nerves were nov/stretch'd to the breaking strain. At length, just before the break of day, I made out a red light's brilliant ray. And loudly we shouted at the sight ; It came and went — at last died away ; But soon we saw in the morning light A big vessel approaching fast under steam. Distant less than a mile on the weather beam. THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. 35 We crowded all to the windward side, And brandish'd our arms and stretch'd them wide, And shouted and shriek'd as though we fear'd We might even yet be still more tried ; For she would pass on the course she steer'd, And unless we show'd them how many we were. They might leave us to die without further care. But see, they have turn'd her head our way, She comes down slowly in clouds of spray, Pitches and rolls in the heavy sea — As though, unwilling to yield its prey, The ocean swell'd in impotency, The rescuer seeking in vain to o'erwhelm — But she ranges abreast as she puts down her helm. A large lifeboat comes, by brave men mann'd, Dext'rously steer'd by a fearless hand. Now carried aloft — now pitching low — Upon the taff-rail we waiting stand — Not slight is her risk ; a single blow Would dash her to atoms upon the poop's side. And drown her brave crew in the wild seething tide. D 2 36 THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. We must jump, they shout, and one by one, In no other way can it be done ; We must watch our chance and boldly leap, As under our stern the boat comes on, Ere carried off by the next wave's sweep. The lifeboat is borne to the leeward away — We must seize the moment, and risk it, they say. 'Twas toilsome work for the gallant crew, Their muscular arms had much to do To pull to windward as each man leapt ; But their English hearts were mettle true. Doggedly still to their task they kept ; They knew nothing of toil, there were lives to save, Nor thought of the risk of a watery grave. Brave fellows they, and while England boasts Such gallant crews round her stormy coasts, Full half the terrors of wrecks are fled, And she may scorn an invader's hosts; On Britain's soil they would never tread. For the men who for lifeboat work volunteer, Like their fathers of old, know nothing of fear. THE WATER-LOGGED BARQUE. 37 They braved for two hours that raging sea — And a wilder flood there scarce could be — Until we all had happily sprung ; And when our captain — the last was he — Leapt into the boat, a loud cheer rung, Rung echoing over the waves far and wide. As they headed her round for the steamer's side. We reach'd her safely without a check, And soon lost sight of that awful wreck ; And thankful we were again to feel Springing beneath us a buoyant deck, So different from the sickening heel Of the wave-beaten hull we had left behind ; I shudder, e'en now, when I call it to mind. Since then in many a wreck I've been, Hung more than once life and death between, On desert island been cast away, Ship in mid-ocean on fire have seen — But of all I've pass'd through in my day, That most miserable time bears the blackest mark, Far the worst of all was the water-logg'd barque. 38 THE POET'S HOME. Where shall the Poet seek on earth his home, Whom Heaven itself would scarcely long contain, Whose restless soul from thence would wish to roam? Not even in bliss at rest can he remain ; Fleeting his genius as the storm-toss'd foam. His soaring spirit space can not enchain, His song all bounds, all barriers doth refuse ; What home, himself contented, would he choose ? Will it be found amid the city's hum, His life-task there the study of mankind, Where countless faces ever go and come, And most but mirror to a sordid mind ; Where Nature's joyous voice perforce is dumb, Where all to aught but gold and gain are blind ? There can the Poet have no dwelling-place. Where man has marr'd the earth's fair, smiling face. THE poet's home. 39 Will he find rest in desert vast and lone, Amid the relics of an age gone by, 'Mid broken shafts and pillars overthrown Which once tower'd upright to a brazen sky, Where the parch'd sands are yet with fragments strown Of temples marvellous in immensity ? Their mythic tales his soul do not delight, He must e'en elsewhere wing his fancy-flight. Beside some mighty river's inpent stream, With rocks and gloomy pine-woods overhung, That scarce at mid-day even the sun's warm beam Is ever on the rushing waters flung — A dazzling ray, a passing, fitful gleam — A spot that folk-lore long ago has sung, Of gnomes, and wraiths, and gobHns dread the haunt, Whose powers of mischief they not idly vaunt ? 40 THE POETS HOME. Or by the placid lake's clear, vast expanse By snow-clad mountain barrier vainly hemm'd, Upon whose moonlit beach the fairies dance, Whose wavelets are by mermaid bosoms stemm'd, Where jutting rocks out in the flood advance In jewell'd glory by the sunlight gemm'd ? Useless, alas ! to him the fairy-lore, Gnomes, goblins, mermaids, long have left the shore. Majestic into heaven the Jungfrau towers. Ice-chastely draped in everlasting snows, Veil'd by the storm-cloud's mist which darkly lours. From frozen brow to freezing bosom flows — Cold and repellent are her wintry bowers, Even when her face with sunset blushes glows — Terrific Grandeur, chilling Chastit}-, O'erpowering sense of dread Eternity. — THE poet's home. 4I Must he then seek among the orient seas A home her frigid altitude denies ; Where, wafted from the incense-breathing trees, Their perfumes blending, scented odours rise; Where balm is borne on every fresh'ning breeze At morn and eve beneath the twilight skies ; Where all combines to kindle soft desire, And kindled once, to ever fan the fire ? Or on the dreamy shores of sunlit isles, Where coral reefs rise out an amber sea ; Where languid Nature ever wanton smiles. The soul bewitching with her poetry ; Where dark-eyed Beauty meltingly beguiles Beneath the palm-grove's high-spread canopy ? All lures in vain to rest, and love, and ease — His thoughts are fix'd on higher things than these. 42 THE poet's home. Nay ! on the summit of some wave-lash'd crag, Rising from out the foam so sheer and steep, Whence ever proudly waves Old England's flag In red-cross grandeur far across the deep — • Fray'd by the storm-wind's blast the tatter'd rag O'er subject Ocean haughty guard doth keep, Out on the breeze a crimson streamer flowing, High in the clouds with beacon's splendour glowing. There, if the Poet's soul can ever rest, There may, methinks, his teeming fancy dwell ; As the Past's mighty memories crowd his breast, A mightier Future there he will foretell ; There may he end his restless, ceaseless quest, Roused by the storm, and lull'd by calm's soft swell ; There shall he give his genius ample play — Thence soar aloft on Heaven's eternal ray. 43 TWO SONNETS. (1880.) Nay, say not that Old England's race is run, Our load of Empire more than we can bear, No longer now can Britons do and dare — Faint-hearted cravens ! It is but begun. The Anglo-Saxon Empire shall be One, United shall be many Empires there ! , Of this no true man should at all despair, Far nobler deeds than ever yet were done, And victories— though bloodless— far more great Than Roman — aye, or British annals tell — For our United Empires still has Fate Reserved — One English speech will all compel, Kingdoms, Republics to confederate In one grand Union wheresoe'er we dwell. 44 TWO SONNETS. II. The times are bad— can not be worse, ye say, And England's long ascendant star has set.- Hard times should not despondency beget ! 'Tis darkest just before the dawning day, But as we know the sun's all-piercing ray Will soon dispel the gloom, we do not fret ; Our fathers harder times with courage met, And we their sons will fling despair away ! If England's star— which I do not allow— Were set, there's still for us a rising sun ; Our heritage is glorious, anyhow. Vast continents we still may overrun ; And though our Empires are divided now, We Anglo-Saxons yet will all be One. 45 THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BR£T (near Lausanne). A WIDOW sat at the sunset hour Alone in the trellis'd shade, Where still on the vine-leaves of her bower The fading sunlight play'd. It was a cottage poor and mean, Its porch but a rough oak-bough, But the well-kept floor and the walls were clean, And the cottage is standing now. 'Twas built on the road-side, near the gate, Some hundreds of years ago, Where a city rear'd in ponderous state Defences against the foe. 46 THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BR^T. Yet of that city vast and proud, Of its walls and turrets grey, Of its massive gates and its thronging crowd Nothing is seen to-day. The cottage stands on a green hill-side, On a pleasant, sunny steep, But the city is sunk beneath the tide Of a mountain lakelet deep. A stranger once to the city came, In the old grey time of yore, He preach'd with power, for his words were flame They turn'd him from door to door. Worn out by his one persistent cry. They thrust him out the gate. Threatening all with direst penalty Who on his needs should wait. THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BRET. 47 Thus nowhere, even in the poorest inn, Could he more a harbour find ; The townsmen, wholly given to sin, His message aye decUned. No longer in the market-place Could he scant victuals buy, But still he preach'd the means of grace, " Repent ! Repent ! " would cry. But in her cottage poor and lone The widow harbour'd him, Though with suffering she was feeble grown. And her sight long since was dim. And thus the months sped quickly by. Till a year had pass'd away ; Since the stranger first had raised his cry Had pass'd a year and a day. 48 THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BR^IT. The widow sat at the sunset hour Alone in the trellis'd shade, Where still on the vine-leaves of her bower The fading sunlight play'd. She waited there, and waited long, But the preacher did not come ; Hush'd was the city's busy throng, Still the stranger came not home. But as the sun's last lingering rays Kiss'd the mountain's blushing cheek. And the day gave place to twilight haze. She arose her guest to seek. Slowly, and fill'd with sickening dread, She prcss'd on t'wards the gate, Where the frowning ramparts overhead Foreshadow'd the preacher's fate. THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BRET. 49 But ere the drawbridged moat she trod, She turn'd, for she heard her name ; The Crucified, the Son of God In a radiant vision came : " Not, daughter, in yonder town," He said, " Will he whom you seek be found ; Who for jMy cause his blood hath shed Is among My martyrs crown'd. What for him for My sake thou hast done Thou hast even done for Me, And now his race on earth is run I will requite it thee." The vision faded in glorious light. The widow homeward turn'd ; And an awful fate befell that night The town which its Saviour spurn'd. E 50 THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BRET. His servant had pleaded with wondrous power On that, the last day of grace ; As the sun went down at the evening hour He died in the market-place. They had tortured him there at the cruel stake Long hours through the hot noontide, But he bore it all for his Master's sake Who for him was crucified. The sun arose in a tranquil sky : No city more was seen, No house but the widow's, standing by A lake where the town had been. That cottage is standing there to-day By the placid waters' side. And the mountain-peaks on the surface play Morn and eve in the mirror'd tide. THE LEGEND OF THE LAC DE BRET. 5 I The fisher oft in the summer time In the dreamy noontide afloat, As he hears a sound hke a bell's sweet chime Peers down in the depths from his boat. And he sees, many fathoms deep in the wave, Church-spires and embattled walls, Where the city sleeps in its crystal grave Till the Judgment-trumpet calls. E 2 52 LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. [George of Freundsberg was one of the most distinguished generals in the Imperial army, and was the author of several improvements in the military system. He contributed greatly to the victory at Pavia ; and a year afterwards raised, by pledging his estates, a force of 12,000 men, and thus enabled Charles of Bourbon to march upon and storm Rome. Bourbon fell in the breach, being the first to mount it, but the city was taken and sacked, and the Pope was kept a prisoner in the Castle of St. Angelo for seven months. Freundsberg was a man of great strength, and his deeds of personal prowess were greatly celebrated in his day.] The Emperor holds at Worms imperial state : Electors, margraves, dukes the chamber throng ; Archbishops, bishops, abbots, nuncios wait. While slowly winds the cavalcade along, The coming of a Monk, whose pending fate. Whose death-doom shall give peace to Christendom And vassal all the world again to Rome. Ambassadors from England, France, are there, Late from the pageant of the Cloth of Gold ; LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. 55 Their monarchs Papal honours fettering bear With lavish splendour through all Europe told. Magnificence of pomp not now their care ; Defender of the Faith — Most Christian I\Iajesty — For loftier titles still the haughty rivals vie. And Charles, the mighty Charles himself, is throned. Imperial arbiter in courtly pride, That Charles, whom Old and New World sovereign own'd, By him must yon poor wordy Monk be tried, Tremendous issues he must there decide. The power of Papal Rome yon Monk hath dared to beard. The standard of reform enthusiastic rear'd, And of his bold self-will appear'd His course to justify : With dauntless front, in person dared to plead Against the encroaching errors of that creed That Pope and Kaiser hold, Beneath whose banner sovereigns are enroll'd. In whose defence these haughty kings would die. 54 LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. Princes, and counts, and barons of the realm, The pomp and power of all the German land, Statesmen and councillors who guide her helm, And Deputies from her Free Cities stand On either hand ; Imperial soldiery, Italians, Spaniards proud, The portals of the hall, the ante-chambers crowd. Without, a mighty multitude Had the whole morn long stood, Eager to gaze their fill upon the man, The lowly Mansfeldt's miner's son, Who all unaided his career began. Full tilt at Rome had dauntless run, And all alone the victory won ; Who by the shock Of thunder'd Truth's invective fiercely hurl'd Had shaken to its base the vaunted rock Where sat enthroned the pontiffs of the world ; And now was come to argue out his cause Before his Kaiser, and in Europe's sight, Relying on Germany's princes and her laws. And on his God to aye maintain the right. LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. 55 "He comes — he comes!" is echoed down the street In sounds confused, with rush of speeding feet, As in the narrow lane, hedged bright with flashing spears, Far in the distance now the Herald first appears, The Marshal of the Empire,— then the man Whom all fast flock to see, to meet his death-doom nears. "He comes !" from every side the people ran; "He comes, he comes !" fast flow'd the eager crowd. In vain " Make w'ay !" the soldiers shouted loud, The narrow lane is block'd, For faster still the people flock'd. Forgotten Kaiser now, electors, prelates all. In glad tumultuous shout the people " Luther " call ; Till with the swell its high-peak'd gables rock'd. And the long sound-wave surged within the Judg- ment hall. Herald and Marshal, Monk, are hemm'd Fast in the people's wild embrace, And, since the tide can not be stemm'd. Stand still and motionless a space. Then seek, since idle is delay, To reach the hall by other way. 56 LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. The Herald orders, suddenly the door Of the first house next by is open thrown, And while the tumult swells in deafening roar . Enter the Herald, Marshal, Monk alone. Who thus, ere can the crowd their purpose guess, Escape the people's ever-gathering press. By secret passages and garden-ways The Herald and the INIarshal lead, But the fond mob, more eager yet to gaze On the bold Champion of the Gospel-creed, Into the houses, through the gardens speed, And thread the alleys' maze ; While the more venturous up the gables climb To catch a glimpse of him for one short second's time. While still assuring shouts re-echo loud As from all sides the countless thousands flock, Till the tall towers and spires vibrating rock ; While all their windows wealthy burghers crowd, And sympathising throngs the roadways block ; The little band Once more is brought to stand : LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. 57 Louder and louder swells the din, Although the town hall's gain'd, Its very threshold even attain'd, They cannot enter in, Until the guards by force a passage clear, And hold the peojDle back with pike and spear : Now courage, doughty Monk ! the last dread goal is near! And, truth, he needs it all, His spirit's utmost force, his readiest mind, Prompt wit and judgment, answers well design'd, Composure, and unbending stedfast will, His lofty mission dauntless to fulfil. As now the doors disclose the solemn council-hall. But ere the antechamber's pass'd, Ere he is usher'd in the presence dread. Full many a kindly look is cast, And cheering words of comfort said ; And at the last, Last moment as he enters there, A brave knight bids him not despair. 58 LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. 'Twas George of Freundsberg, who has thus attain'd Far greater fame By this one speech than all his victories gain'd, And more enduring crown ; Associate with the great Reformer's name His shall be ever handed down. " Good Monk, good Monk ! " the war-worn sol- dier cried. — In many a field his courage had been tried, In many a desperate fray His prowess and his skill had turn'd the doubtful day; But never yet when at the head Of charging squadrons he the conflict led. And in his stirrups standing high, With loud, exulting battle-cry, Cheer'd on his men to victory, Had e'er the veteran spoke a truer word, Or one with consequence more fraught ; To greater issues ne'er had waved his sword Than his kind greeting wrought. — LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. 59 Let Pavia make a captive king, And Rome a captive Pope ; And cause his fame world-wide to ring, Beyond his utmost hope. — • " Good Monk ! thou goest now determined stand to make ; The Uke, nor I nor any valiant knight, In our most earnest, doubtful, desperate fight, Can ever, and have never made ! If but thine aims are true God will not thee forsake. Sure of thy course in His name, then, proceed, And trust in Him to succour in thy need, Nor be at all of man afraid ! " This well-timed welcome Luther's courage fired. The next few steps into the presence led ; — What at the Diet there at Worms transpired The whole world knows, no more need now be said. 6o LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. But George of Freundsberg little knew How much his words With the great grand result had there to do ; He little thought When he the victory wrought, When the Ticino whelm'd sad Pavia's beaten hordes, As his fierce charge Of German lanzknechts swept the bloody field, And chivalrous Francis forced to yield — Or when at large Through Rome's breach'd barricades, o'er the dying and the dead, With Charles of Bourbon he his stormers led — In those his hours of victory, Flush'd with success, he little, little dream'd, While the fierce light of battle gleam'd, And animation fired his eye. His glorious feats would be forgotten ere The cheering words that he had spoken there. When on the Monk his glance in kindly welcome beam'd. LUTHER AND FREUNDSBERG. 6l Luther and Freundsberg ! These are greater names, Associated now, Than he as conqueror at Pavia claims, Though crovvn'd with victor's laurel-bough ; For by this speech he dealt a deadlier blow At the fell power of Papal Rome, Than when in storm he laid her ramparts low, In tumult charging home. 62 THE MIDSHIPMAN AND THE BELLE OF THE BALL. " My heart, my heart is free As my frigate on the sea, Scudding merrily." " Your frigate is a lifeless thing, 'Tis a faulty simile ! " " As a sea-bird, then, upon the wing. Emblem of liberty ! " " But mine is freer still, As the butterfly at play With the warm sun's quickening ray, The livelong summer day Sporting at will. THE MIDSHIPMAN AND THE BELLE OF THE BALL. 63 " What ! and as fickle do you say ? Then, sir, you shall have your way. Whole — entire — without a care — Freer than the joyous air All-pervading — everywhere, — My heart is free, is free, and gay." '" Gay sweetheart, if thy heart is free, Yield it me. And in return take mine ; A bargain shall the transfer be. The interchange divine — Thou with mine, as I with thine, Shalt hold me, as I hold thee, By a token and a sign, By this — and this — In fond captivity." — Aye, the sailor-lad is free and bold, Bold to woo and free to kiss. He has circled her waist with a closer hold, And she in a whisper her love has told, And she is his. 64 THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. {Frojti the German of Biirger.) I WILL tell you a tale, it is witty enough ! There was once a Kaiser, he was crusty and rough ; There was, too, a Lord Abbot of high degree, 'Twas a pity his shepherd was wiser than he ! Now the Kaiser must bear both the heat and the cold, Sleeping oft in his mail in his mantle enroll'd ; Black bread and water full often he cursed, And, oftener still, suffer'd hunger and thirst. But the Abbot enjoy'd ever jolly good cheer, And he loved both his bed and his board, never fear ! Like the full moon shone his oily fat face. Nor could any three men his body embrace. THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. 65 So a grudge to the Abbot the Emperor bore — And it happen'd one day as he rode to the war, His train at his back, in the sweltering heat, The Abbot he spied, lounging cool on his seat. Ho ! chuckled the Kaiser, the luckiest chance ! Here with my fat Abbot I'll now break a lance : " Holy Father, how are you ? It certainly seems What with fasting and praying your countenance beams. " But still must I think that your time passes slow, And that you would thank me some work to bestow ; You are the cleverest man out, or I'm sold. The grass you can hear as it grows, I am told. " So three innocent nuts I now put in your cheek, And the answer in three months' time will I seek ; To crack them a pastime — to give you more law Would be quite thrown away, for you've got a strong jaw, F 66 THE EMPEROR AND THE ADBOT. " First — When by my robes as the Emperor known, With princes in council surrounding the throne, How much I am worth to the uttermost mite, Like a treasurer true you will answer aright. " Reckon up, for the second, until you have found How long it will take me to ride the world round, To the minute exact, not too long nor too short ; The answer, in truth, to you is mere sport. " The third : You shall guess, for of prelates you're prize. To a hair what I think, my Lord Abbot most wise ; If you're right I'll confess it, but still, do you see, Not an atom of truth in my thought must there be. " But should it so happen my nuts you can't crack. To be Abbot much longer the time you shall lack ; On an ass I'll command you be led through the land Face backwards, the tail 'stead the reins in your hand." THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. 67 The Emperor turn'd, full of laughter, and rode. Out fuller than ever his cheeks the Monk blow'd, Scratch'd his pate, plagued his brains, heaved sigh upon sigh, Felt as though just condemn'd on the gallows to die. He, one, two, three, four learned Faculties tasks. Of one, two, three, four Universities asks, And promises dues and fees not a few ; But there is'nt a Doctor can answer him true. And the time, how it runs ! while the answer he seeks, The hours grow to days, and the days grow to weeks, And the weeks grow to months, and still the time flies, The Abbot grows yellow and green round the eyes. And now see him, a pale, a lean, wasted old man, Seek in woods and in fields to find peace if he can ; He walks in a rocky, unfrequented way, Where meets him Hans Bendix, his shepherd, one day. F 2 68 THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. *' Lord Abbot," says Bendix, " what gnaws at your heart ? You waste right away, from yourself you will part : By'r Lady and Joseph ! your course will be run, Unless, by my faith, you can get something done." ** Ah ! good my Hans Bendix, 't must even so be. For the Kaiser, he bears me a grudge, don't you see ! He has put 'tween my teeth three such nuts for to crack, Can't be done were Beelzebub's self at my back. ** First : When by his robes as the Emperor known, With princes in council surrounding the throne, How much he is worth, to the uttermost mite. Like a treasurer true I must answer aright. *' I must reckon the second until I have found How long it will take him to ride the world round, To the minute exact, not too long nor too short. The answer to me in truth is mere sport ! THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. 69 " The third — was e'er prelate before so distress'd ? — To a hair what he thinks, he says, must be guess'd ; If I'm right he'll confess it, but still, do you see, Not an atom of truth in his thought must there be. "And should it so happen his nuts I can't crack, To be Abbot much longer the time I shall lack ; On an ass he'll command I be led through the land, Face backwards, the tail, 'stead the reins, in my hand." " Is that all ? " says Hans Bendix, with laughter full sore, " The riddles to guess, good my lord, do not pore ; I can make it all right if you but lend to me Your mitre and crozier and frock, do you see ? " For though I don't understand Latin a bit, I am none the less proud of my own mother wit, What you, all your learning, your gold, cannot gain, I, leave it to me, will engage to obtain," 70 THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. The Abbot he jump'd with delight, and he ran And fetch'd mitre, and crozier, and frock, and began Hans Bendix as Abbot to dress for the Court, AVhere he sent him, and Bendix the Emperor sought. The Kaiser he sat on the Emperor's throne, And he lorded it high with his sceptre and crown ;— " Now tell me, Lord Abbot, like treasurer true. How much am I worth ? mind you give me my due. " For thirty broad pieces Our Lord was betray'd ! Howe'er high you lord it, I'm therefore afraid Twenty-nine's all you're worth, do not think it too few, Surely He must have been worth one more than you." ' ' There is something in that," said the Kaiser aside, " And it goes a long way to humble our pride ; But still I must own I am struck of a heap, I had never believed I had gone so dirt cheap ! THE EMPEROR AND THE ABBOT. J I " Now tell me the second : I suppose you have found How long it will take me to ride the world round, To the minute exact, not too long nor too short : Methinks you can hardly turn this, too, to sport ! " " My Liege, with the sun if you saddle and ride, And as fast as he goes but keep pace at his side, I'll wager my mitre and crozier thereon That in twenty- four hours the task will be done." " Ha, ha !" laugh 'd the Kaiser, "most splendidly put, Your horses you feed with your 'if and your ' but,' With your 'but' and your 'if he who maketh his pun, Hath well fed his steed, //^v:•.^■-^..rv_;■^?v^^^;::^'-J.:i>;;l^::;^ 1