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The beams of God's own hallow'd day

Had painted yonder spire with gold, And, calling sinful men to pray,

Loud, long, and deep, the bell had toll's :

But still the wildgrave onward rides ;

Halloo, halloo! and hark again! When, spurring from opposing sides,

Two stranger horsemen join the train. Who was each stranger, left and right,

Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The right hand steed was silver white,

The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

The right hand horseman, young and fair,

His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray,

He waved his huntsman's cap on high,

Cried, “ Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,

To match the princely chase, afford ?”

his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, “ Gluck zu, Falkenburg.!(Good sport to ye, Falkenburg !) “Dost thou wish me good sport ?answered a hoarse voice; “ thou shalt share the game;" and there was thrown at him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never perfectly recovered the personal effects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with some variation, is universally believed all over Germany.

The French had a similar tradition concerning an aëiial hunter, who infested the forest of Fontainebleau. He was sometimes visible; when he appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be found in “Sully's Memoirs," who says he was called Le Grande Veneur. At one time he chose to hunt so near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I mistake not, Sully himself, came out into the court, supposing it was the sound of the king returping from the chase. This phantom is elsewhere called Saint Hubert.

The superstition seems to have been very general, as appears from the following fine poetical description of this phantom chase, as it was lieard in the wilds of Ross-shire.

"Ere since, of old, the haughty thanes of Ross-
So to the simple swain tradition tells-
Were wont with clans, and ready vassals throng'd
To wake the bounding slag, or guilty wolf,
There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon,
Beginning faint, but rising still more loud,
And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds,
And horns hoarse-winded, blowing far and keen:-
Forth with the hubbub multiplies; the gale
Labours with wilder shrieks and riser din
Of hot pursuit; the broken cry of deer
Mangled ly throuling dogs; the shouts of men,
And hoofs thick beating on the hollow hill.
Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale
Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's ears
Tingle with inward dread. Aghast he eyes
The mountain's height, and all the ridges round,
Yet not one trace of living wight discerns;
Nor knows, o'eraw'd, and trembling as he stands,
To what or whom he owes his idle fear,
To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend;
But wonders, and no end of wondering finds."

Scottish Descriplive Poems, pp. 167, 168. A posthumous miracle of father Lesly, a Scottish Capuchin, related to his being buried on a hill haunted by these unearthly cries of hounds and huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been deposited there, the noise was never heard more. The reader will find this, and other miracles, recorded in the life of father Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest Italian.

“ Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,"

Cried the fair youth, with silver voice ; “ And for devotion's choral swell

Exchange the rude un hallow'd noise.

“ To-day the ill-omen'a chase forbear,

Yon bell yet summons to the fane ; To-day the warning spirit hear,

To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.”

“ Away, and sweep the glades along !"

The sable hunter hvarse replies; “ To muttering monks leave matin song,

And bells, and books, and mysteries."

The wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,

And, lanching forward with a bound, “ Who, for thy drowsy priest-like rede,

Would leave the jovial horn and hound?

“ Hence, if our manly sport offend !

With pious fools go chant and pray: Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend

Halloo, halloo! and, hark away!

The wildgrave spurr'd his courser light,

O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; And on the left, and on the right,

Each stranger horsernan follow'd still. Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn,

A stag more white than mountain snow : And louder rung the wildgrave's born,

“Hark forward, forward! holla, ho !”

The wildgrave winds his bugle horn,

To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo ! His fiery courser snuffs the morn,

And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

A heedless wretch had cross'd the way;

He gasps, the thundering hoofs below: But, live who can, or die who may,

Still, “ Forward, forward !" on they go.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake.

See, where yon simple fences meet,

A field with autumn's blessings crown'd; See, prostrate at the wildgrave's feet, A husbandman, with toil embrown'd:

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“O mercy, mercy, Loble lord !

But man and horse, and horn and hound, Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry,

Fast rattling on his traces go; “Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour's, The sacred chapel rung around In scorching hour of fierce July ?

With, “ Hark away! and, holla, ho !” Earnest the right hand stranger pleads,

All mild, amid the route profane, The left still cheering to the prey,

The holy hermit pour'd his prayer ; Th' impetuous earl no warning heeds,

“ Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; But furious holds the onward way.

Revere his altar, and forbear! “Away, thou hound so basely born,

“ The meanest brute has rights to plead, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow !"

Which wrong'd by cruelty or pride, Then loudly rung his bugle horn,

Draw vengeance on the ruthless head: Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !"

Be warn'd at length, and turn aside." So said, so done: a single bound

Still the fair horseman anxious pleads ; Clears the poor labourer's humble pale:

The black, wild whooping, points the prey: Wild follows man, and horse, and hound,

Alas! the earl no warning heeds, Like dark December's stormy gale.

But frantic keeps the forward way.

“ Holy or not, or right or wrong, And man, and horse, and hound, and horn, Destructive sweep the field along;

Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; While joying o'er the wasted corn,

Not sainted martyr's sacred song, Fell famine marks the maddening throng.

Not God himself, shall make me turn !” Again uproused, the timorous prey

He spurs bis horse, he winds his horn, Scours moss, and moor, and holt, and hill ;

“ Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!” Hard run, he feels his strength decay,

But off, on wirlwind's pinions borne, And trusts for life his simple skill.

The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. Too dangerous solitude appeard ;

And horse, and man, and horn, and hound, He seeks the shelter of the crowd ;

And clamour of the chase was gone; Amid the flock's domestic herd

For hoofs, and howls, and bugle sound, His harmless head he hopes to shroud.

A deadly silence reign'd alone. O’er moss, and moor, and holt, and hill,

Wild gazed th' affrighted earl around; His track the steady bloodhounds trace ;

He strove in vain to wake his horn; O'er moss and moor, unwearied still,

In vain to call; for not a sound The furious earl pursues the chase.

Could from his anxious lips be borne. Full lowly did the herdsman fall;

He listens for his trusty hounds; “O spare, thou noble baron, spare

No distant baying reach'd his ears: These herds, a widow's little all ;

His courser, rooted to the ground, These flocks an orphan's fleecy care ?”

The quickening spur unmindful bears. Earnest the right hand stranger pleads,

Still dark and darker frown the shades, The left still cheering to the prey ;

Dark as the darkness of the grave; The earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,

And not a sound the still in vades, But furious keeps the onward way.

Save what a distant torren: gave. “ Unmanner'd dog! to stop my sport

High o'er the sinner's humbled head Vain were thy cant and beggar whine,

At length the solemn silence broke; Though human spirits, of thy sort,

And from a cloud of swarthy red, Were tenants of these carrion kine!”

The awful voice of thunder spoke. Again he winds his bugle horn,

"Oppressor of creation fair ! “ Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !"

Apostate spirits' harden'd tool! And through the herd, in ruthless scorn,

Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! He cheers his furious hounds to go.

The measure of thy cup is full. In heaps the throttled victims fall;

“ Be chased forever through the wood; Down sinks their mangled herdsman near.

Forever roam th' affrighted wild; The murderous cries the stag appal

And let thy fate instruct the proud, Again he starts, new nerved by fear.

God's meanest creature is his child.” With blood besmear'd, and white with foam, 'Twas hush'd: one flash, of sombre glare, While big the tears of anguish pour

With yellow ting'd the forest brown; He seeks, amid the forest's gloom,

Up rose the wildgrave's bristling bair, The humble hermit's hallow'd bower.

And horror chill'd each perve and bone.

Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill;

keep as closely as possible to his original. The A rising wind began to sing ;

various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and disAnd louder, louder, louder still,

proportioned episodes, must be set down to TehuBrought storm and tempest on its wing. di's account, or to the taste of his age. Earth heard the call! Her entrails rend;

The military antiquary will derive some amuse

ment from the minute particulars which the marFrom yawning rifts, with many a yell,

tial poet has recorded. The mode in which the Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend

Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of the The misbegotten dogs of hell.

Swiss was by forming a phalanx, which they deWhat ghastly huntsman next arose,

fended with their long lances. The gallant WinkWell may I guess, but dare not tell;

elried, who sacrificed his own life by rushing His eye like midnight lightning glows,

among the spears, clasping in his arms as many as His steed the swarthy hue of hell.

he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in these

iron battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. The wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn,

When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length With many a shriek of helpless wo;

of their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their deBehind him hound, and horse, and horn,

fensive armour, rendered the Austrian men-at-armas And, “Hark away, and holla, ho!”

a very unequal match for the light-armed mounWith wild despair's reverted eye,

taineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over Close, close behind, he marks the throng, the German chivalry, hitherto deemed as formi. With bloody fangs, and eager cry,

dable on foot as on horseback, led to important In frantic fear he scours along.

changes in the art of war. The poet describes the

Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks Still, still shall last the dreadful chase,

from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in Till time itself shall have an end :

allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often By day they scour earth's cavern'd space,

mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III., ArcbAt midnight's witching hour ascend.

duke of Austria, called “The handsome man-atThis is the horn, and hound, and horse,

arms," was slain in the battle of Sempach, with the That oft the lated peasant hears ;

Aower of his chivalry. Appall'd he signs the frequent cross,

When the wild din invades his ears. The wakeful priest oft drops a tear

'Twas when among our linden trees

The bees had housed in swarms,
For human pride, for human wo,
When at his midnight mass, he hears

( And gray-hair'd peasants say that these
Tb'infernal cry of “Holla, ho !"

Betoken foreign arms,)
Then look'd we down to Willisow,

The land was all in flame;
We knew the Archduke Leopold

With all his army came.
THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.

The Austrian nobles made their vow,

So hot their hearts and bold, THESŁ verses are a literal translation of an “ On Switzer carles we'll trample now, ancient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sempach, And slay both young and old.” fougat 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss cantons established their independence.

With clarion loud, and banner proud,

From Zurich on the lake,
The author is Albert Tehudi, denominated the
Souter, from his profession of a shoemaker. He

In martial pomp and fair array, was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among

Their onward march they make. his countrymen, both for his powers as a Meister

“Now list ye, lowland nobles all singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier ;

Ye seek the mountain strand, 80 that he might share the praise conferred by

Nor wot ye what shall be your lot
Collins on Eschylus, that-

In such a dangerous land.
Not alone he nursed the poet's flame,
But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steel.

“I rede ye, shrive you of your sins

Before you further go; The circumstance of their being written by a

A skirmish in Helvetian hills poet returning from a well-fought field he de

May send your souls to wo.” scribes, and in which his country's fortune was secured, may confer on Tehudi's verses an interest “ But where now shall we find a priest, which they are not entitled to claim from their Our shrift that he may hear?” poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more lite. “The Switzer priest* has ta’en the field, rally it is translated, the more it loses its simpli- He deals a penance drear. city, without acquiring either grace or strength; and tberefore some of the faults of the verses must * All the Swiss clergy who were able to bear arms fought be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to in this patriotic war.

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The gallant Swiss confederates there,

They pray'd to God aloud,
And he display'd his rainbow fair

Against a swarthy cloud.
Then heart and pulse throbb'd more and more

With courage firm and high,
And down the good confederates bore

On the Austrian chivalry.

The Austrian liont 'gan to growl,

And toss his main and tail; And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt

Went whistling forth like hai).

Lance, pike, and halberd, mingled there,

The game was nothing sweet; The boughs of many a stately tree

Lay shiver'd at their feet.

It was the Archduke Leopold,

So lordly would he ride, But he came against the Switzer churls,

And they slew him in his pride. The heifer said unto the bull,

“ And shall I not complain ? There came a foreign nobleman

To milk me on the plain. “ One thrust of thine outrageous horn

Has gall’d the knight so sore, That to the churchyard he is borne,

To range our glens no more." An Austrian noble left the stour,

And fast the flight 'gan take ;
And he arrived in luckless hour

At Sempach, on the lake.
He and his squire a fisher call's,

( His name was Hans Von Rot,) “ For love, or meed, or charity,

Receive us in thy boat.”
Their anxious call the fisher heard,

And glad the meed to win,

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast,

So close their spears they laid : It chafed the gallant Winkelried,

Who to his comrades said

* In the original, Haasenstein, or Hare-stone.

† This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned upwards, and so long that, in some cases, they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with small chains. When they alighted to fight upon foot, it would seem that the Austrian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these oeaks, that they might move with the neces. sary activity

* A vun on the archduke's name, Leopold.

* A pun on the Urus, or wild bull, which gives name to the canton of Uri,

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It was a messenger of wo

Has sought the Austrian land; “Ah! gracious lady, evil news !

My lord lies on the strand.

“ At Sempach, on the battle field,

His bloody corpse lies there." “Ab, gracious God!" the lady cried,

What tidings of despair !"

Now would you know the minstrel wight,

Who sings of strife so stern, Albert the Souter is he hight,

A burgher of Lucerne.

Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms ?
Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general con:

quest.
Had we a difference with some pełty isle,
Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks,
The taking in of some rebellious lord,
Or making head against a slight commotion,
After a day of blood peace might be argued :
But where we grapple for the land we live on,
The liberty we hold more dear than lise,
The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours,
And, with those, swords that know no end of battle-
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,
Thoge minds, that, where the day is claim inheritance,
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest,
And where they march but measure out more ground
To add to Rome
It must not be.-No! as they are our foes,
Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing;
But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman,
That thinks to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under ground,
And be allied in ashes.

Bonduca.

A merry man was he, I wot,

The night he made the lay, Returning from the bloody spot

Where God had judged the day.

The following war-soog was written during the THE MAID OF TORO.

apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volun

teers, to which it was addressed, was raised in O cow shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,

1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed And weak were the whispers that waved the dark at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right wood,

Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, All as a fair maiden bewilder'd in sorrow,

commanded by the honourable Lieutenant-colonel Sorely sigh’d to the breezes, and wept to the Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of flood.

arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was “O saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend- nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which ing;

furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined Sweet virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry;

volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, the city and county, and two corps of artillery, My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!

each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a

force, above all others, might, in similar circumAll distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, stances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient With the breezes they rise, with the breezes Galgacus : “ Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores l'esthey fail,

tros et posteros cogitate.Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle,

To horse! to horse! the standard Aies, And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the The bugles sound the call; gale.

The Gallic navy stems the seas, Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary; • The voice of battle's on the breeze, Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;

Arouse ye, one and all!

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