Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a
frighted steed,

Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's

coat

Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.
"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
O say what may it be?"
"Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!
And he steered for the open sea.
"O father! I hear the sound of guns,
O say what may it be?"
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
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 stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the
gleaming snow

On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed

That saved she might be ;

And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave

On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,

Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land;

It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,

She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy

waves

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

K

Then said the Lord; "This glass to praise,

Fill with red wine from Portugal !” The gray-beard 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!"
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!
In storms the foe, with fire and sword;
He in the night had scaled the wall,
Slain by the sword lies the youthful
Lord,

But holds in his hand the crystal tall,
The shattered Luck of Edenhall.

On the morrow the butler gropes alone,
The gray-beard in the desert hall,
He seeks his lord's burnt skeleton,
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.

"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside,

Down must the stately columns fall; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall !"

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 Knight-Errantry. 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,

But never, ah never can meet with 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. 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 diamond-stone, It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan.

He wore upon his helm

A wreath of ruddy gold;

And that gave him the Maidens Three, The youngest was fair to behold.

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon
If he were come from heaven down;
"Art thou Christ of Heaven?" quoth he,
"So will I yield me unto thee."
"I am not Christ the Great,

Thou shalt not yield thee yet;
I am an Unknown Knight,
Three modest Maidens have me
bedight."

"Art thou a Knight elected,

And have three Maidens thee bedight? So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, For all the Maidens' honour!"

The first tilt they together rode

They put their steeds to the test; The second tilt they together rode,

They proved their manhood best; The third tilt they together rode, 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.

THE SLAVE'S DREAM.. BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;

His breast was bare, his matted hair
Was buried in the sand.

Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,
He saw his Native Land.

Wide through the landscape of his
dreams

The lordly Niger flowed;
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode;
And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand;

They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,

They held him by the hand!—
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids
And fell into the sand.
And then at furious speed he rode
Along the Niger's bank;

His bridle-reins were golden chains,
And, with a martial clank,

At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel

Smiting his stallion's flank. Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew ;

From morn till night he followed their flight,

O'er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,
And the hyæna scream;

And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds

Beside some hidden stream;

And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues, Shouted of liberty;

And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,
With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep and smiled
At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day;

For death had illumined the Land of Sleep,

And his lifeless body lay

A worn-out fetter that the soul
Had broken and thrown away!

THE GOOD PART,

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY.

SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side,
In valleys green and cool;
And all her hope and all her pride

Are in the village school.
Her soul, like the transparent air

That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there

All things with arms of love. And thus she walks among her girls With praise and mild rebukes; Subduing e'en rude village churls By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide
Of one who came to save;
To cast the captive's chains aside,
And liberate the slave.

And oft the blessed time foretells
When all men shall be free;
And musical, as silver bells,

Their falling chains shall be.
And following her beloved Lord,
In decent poverty,

She makes her life one sweet record
And deed of charity.

For she was rich, and gave up all
To break the iron bands
Of those who waited in her hall,
And laboured in her lands.
Long since beyond the Southern sea
Their outbound sails have sped,
While she, in meek humility,

Now earns her daily bread.

It is their prayers, which never cease, That clothe her with such grace; Their blessing is the light of peace That shines upon her face.

THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL
SWAMP.

In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp
The hunted Negro lay;

He saw the fire of the midnight camp,
And heard at times a horse's tramp
And a bloodhound's distant bay.
Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-
worms shine,

In bulrush and in brake; Where waving mosses shroud the pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine

Is spotted like the snake; Where hardly a human foot could pass, Or a human heart would dare, On the quaking turf of the green morass He crouched in the rank and tangled

grass,

Like a wild beast in his lair.

A poor old slave, infirm and lame;
Great scars deformed his face;

On his forehead he bore the brand of shame,

And the rags, that hid his mangled frame,

Were the livery of disgrace. All things above were bright and fair, All things were glad and free; Lithe squirrels darted here and there, And wild birds filled the echoing air

With songs of Liberty!

On him alone was the doom of pain,
From the morning of his birth:
On him alone the curse of Cain
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain,
And struck him to the earth!

THE WITNESSES. IN Ocean's wide domains, Half buried in the sands,

Like skeletons in chains,

With shackled feet and hands,

Beyond the fall of dews,

Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships with all their crews,
No more to sink nor rise.
There the black Slave-ship swims,
Freighted with human forms,
Whose fettered, fleshless limbs

Are not the sport of storms,
These are the bones of Slaves;

They gleam from the abyss ; They cry, from yawning waves, "We are the Witnesses!" Within Earth's wide domains

Are markets for men's lives; Their necks are galled with chains, Their wrists are cramped with gyves.

Dead bodies, that the kite

In deserts makes its prey;