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When he rode into the lists,
The arch of heaven grew black with mists,

And the castle 'gan to rock.
At the first blow
Fell the youth from saddle-bow,

Hardly rises from the shock.

Pipe and viol call the dances,
Torch-light through the high halls glances ;

Waves a mighty shadow in ;
With manner bland
Doth ask the maiden's hand,

Doth with her the dance begin ;

Danced in sable iron sark,
Danced a measure weird and dark,

Coldly clasped her limbs around.
From breast and hair
Down fall from her the fair

Flowerets, faded, to the ground.

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every knight and every dame.

'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, With mournful mind The ancient king reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

MM

Pale the children both did look,
But the guest a beaker took;
“Golden wine will make

you

whole !" The children drank, Gave many a courteous thank;

“Oh, that draught was very cool!")

Each the father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter; and their faces

Colourless grow utterly.
Whichever way
Looks the fear-struck father gray,

He beholds his children die.

“Woe! the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth ;

Take me, too, the joyless father!”
Spake the grim guest,
From his hollow, cavernous breast;

“ Roses in the spring I gather !”

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS.

INTO the Silent Land !
Ah! who shall lead us thither ?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, oh, thither,
Into the Silent Land ?

Into the Silent Land !
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls ! The future's pledge and band !
Who in life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land !

O Land ! O Land !
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great departed,
Into the Silent Land !

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 Edenball 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 grey-beard with trembling hand obeys;
A purplė 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, 0 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 !”

First rings it deep, and full, and mild,
Like to the song of a nightingale;
Then like the roar of a torrent wild;
Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall,
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 !

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