And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,

And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold, Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,

Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest.

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;

And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat;

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike

of sand,

"I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the

land!"

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar

Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.

Hours had passed away, like minutes; and, before I was

aware,

Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined

square.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE NUPTIALS OF MAXIMILIAN AND MARY OF BURGUNDY.

AT

T Bruges in the minster, on columns and on shrines, From thousand candelabras, a wondrous radiance shines:

Bands of priests in splendid garments defile beneath its arches,

While without a lordly company to the Cathedral marches.

Borne loftily before them the double banner streams, Where Burgundy's gold lily-wreath on Austria's purple gleams:

Very strong is the alliance of such people and such

lands,

But the wreath to which the lovers turn twines firmer, stronger bands.

From seventy lands a herald bears the banner of each

land,

Of knights in shining armor, a noble blooming band; They ride in earnest silence, by God's breath circled

round,

While the horses stamp and neigh and the rattling arms resound.

White as the foam of fountains, many hundred horses

prance,

On helmets and on lances the green sprays float and

dance;

Many hundred armors glisten, as the snow in moonlight gleams,

And harp-strings make a music, like the ripples of the

streams.

If a sea-gull, sweeping over it, in the air should chance to be,

He would dive to bathe his plumage in such a silver

sea;

The nightingale whose threnody from yon balcony trills Would think the space beneath him a grove of laurel fills.

In the house of God his blessing the gray-haired Bishop

spake,

And the plain gold rings of wedlock, bride and bridegroom give and take;

Then snapped the ring of one of them, it boded

And the light of an acolyte went out who at the altar

stood.

With myriad stars the canopy of heaven was lit that

night,

But the lights by far outnumbered them that made all Bruges bright,

And if you cannot read the scroll that God wrote in the sky,

You may read on the town-house written a plain transparency:

"In marriage, happy Austria, not in arms thy for

tunes be;

Mars gives to others kingdoms that Venus gives to

thee."

Max and Mary's names thereunder inscribed in colored

light,

Did they see them? History tells not if they saw the scroll that night.

Graf von Auersperg. Tr. J. O. Sargent.

THE HERON CHASE.

WHEN spring again encircles the earth in her genial

embrace,

There rides from the gates of Bruges a party for the chase;

Full many handsome falconers on shapely coursers ride, And withal the beautiful duchess by her loving husband's side.

On her arm there sat a falcon. From the whiteness of his vest

At court they gave him the title of Dominican in jest : His head a black hood covered, a silver collar he wore, Which the inscription "Upwards" in golden letters bore.

A desolate heath outstretches, of bloom and verdure

bare,

Where only thorn-bushes flourish, in patches here and there :

On the left the bath of the herons, a little fish-pond, lay, And here they wash their plumage, and thus their haunt betray.

There's a rush into the water, and a scream from the crackling reeds,

And a flight of frightened herons to the right and left succeeds,

The vigorous falcons circling from the wrists of the hunters fly,

And mount, as the thoughts of man mount, to the azure of the sky.

And the eye of every hunter follows his falcon's flight, As in its aerial circles it sweeps to the left and the right;

Alertly in all directions the eager hunters move, The earth beneath them trembles, clouds of dust are whirled above.

But see with mane all streaming there runs a riderless

horse,

How it snorts! how with fright it quivers! how it springs on its tangled course!

Hold on! Seize the reins of the runaway! How and where fell the rider? Alas!

There lies the beautiful duchess and there is the blood-stained grass!

She leans her pallid countenance upon her husband's

breast,

As white as the evening cloud is when the last flush fades in the west;