"Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me,Fairest of all was she

Among the Norsemen !— When on the white-sea strand, Waving his armèd hand, Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water!
"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,

With his prey laden; So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking seaward.
"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that, tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise

On such another!
"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,

The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,

O, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison-bars, Up to its native stars

My soul ascended!

There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!":
-Thus the tale ended.

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL.
FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.
[The tradition upon which this ballad is
founded, and the "shards of the Luck of
Edenhall," still exist in England. The goblet is
in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave,
Bart., of Eden Hall, Cumberland; and is not
so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it.]

OF Edenhall the youthful Lord
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ;
He rises at the banquet board,
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers
all,

"Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"

The butler hears the words with pain,
The house's oldest seneschal,
Takes slow from its silken cloth again
The drinking glass of crystal tall;
They call it the Luck of Edenhall.

Then said the Lord: "This glass to praise,

Fill with red wine from Portugal!" The graybeard with trembling hand obeys;

A purple light shines over all,

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light,

'This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain Sprite; She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!

"'Twas right a goblet the Fate should be

Of the joyous race of Edenhall! Deep draughts drink we right willingly;

And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!

* In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation.

The glorious Luck of Edenhall.

"For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall; It has lasted longer than is right; Kling! klang!-with a harder blow than all

Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"

As the goblet ringing flies apart,
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall;
And through the rift the wild flames
start;

The guests in dust are scattered all,
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall.

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailor,

Had sailed the Spanish Main, "I pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,

And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the North-east ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

sword;

amain

In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light,

O say what may it be?

But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and s'ark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the
gleaming snow

On his fixed and glassy eyes.

She struck where the white and fleecy

waves,

Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides,

Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,

With the masts went by the board;

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,

Ho! ho! the breakers roared! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair,

Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,

On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this

On the reef of Norman's Woe!

THE ELECTED KNIGHT.

FROM THE DANISH.

[The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of KnightErrantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in the translation.]

SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain,

Full seven miles broad and seven

miles wide,

He wore upon his spurs

Twelve little golden birds; Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,

And there sat all the birds and sang. He wore upon his mail

Twelve little golden wheels; Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, And round and round the wheels they flew.

He wore before his breast

A lance that was poised in rest; And it was sharper than diamondstone,

It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan.

He wore upon his hel.n

A wreath of ruddy gold; And that gave him the Maidens Three, The youngest was fair to behold. Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eft

dight;

the man

A tilt with him dare ride.

He saw under the hill-side

A Knight full well equipped;

His steed was black, his helm was

barred;

He was riding at full speed.

Neither of them would yield; The fourth tilt they together rode, They both fell on the field.

Now lie the Lords upon the plain,

And their blood runs unto death: Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, The youngest sorrows till death.