Often lost their quivering beam, Lent its wild and wondrous close! 'Midst the din, he seemed to hear "Twas the lay that Alice loved.- FOUR times on the still night broke; All with black the board was spread, Long since numbered with the dead! High their meagre arms they wave, THE ERL-KING. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. IT is necessary the reader should be informed, that in the legends of Danish superstition, certain mischievous spirits are supposed to preside over different elements, and to amuse themselves with inflicting calamities on man. One of these is termed the WATER-KING, another the FIRE-KING, and a third the CLOUD-KING. The hero of the present piece is the ERL or OAK-KING, a fiend, who is supposed to dwell in the recesses of the forest, and thence to issue forth upon the benighted traveller to lure him to his destruction. O! who rides by night through the woodland so wild? And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, 66 O father! see yonder, see yonder!" he says. t My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?" "O, 'tis the Erl-King with his staff and his shroud!" "No, my love! it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." The Phantom speaks. "O! wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest child? "O father! my father! and did you not hear The Erl-King whisper so close in my ear?" 66 Be still, my loved darling, my child be at ease! It was but the wild blast as it howled through the trees." The Phantom. "O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy! My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through wild, And hug thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child.”— O father! my father! and saw you not plain The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past through the rain ?" ་ "O no, my heart's treasure! I knew it full soon, It was the grey willow that danced to the moon." The Phantom. "Come with me, come with me, no longer delay! Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away." O father! O father! now, now, keep your hold! The Erl-King has seized me-his grasp is so cold." Sore trembled the father; he spurred through the wild, Miscellaneous. HELLVELLYN. IN the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmorland. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start ? How many long days and long nights didst thou number, When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming; But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. THE MAID OF TORO.* O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood. All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, "O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair: And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair. This and the three following pieces were first published in Haydn's Collection of Scottish Airs, Edinburgh, 1805. THE PALMER. O OPEN the door, some pity to show; Keen blows the northern wind, The glen is white with the drifted snow; And the path is hard to find. "No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate, From chasing the king's deer, Though even an Outlaw's wretched state Might claim compassion here. A weary Palmer, worn and weak, I wander for my sin; O open, for your lady's sake, "I'll give you pardons from the pope, "The hare is crouching in her form, An aged man, amid the storm, "You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar, Dark, deep, and strong is he, And I must ford the Ettricke o'er, Unless you pity me. "The iron gate is bolted hard, At which I knock in vain; The owner's heart is closer barred, Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant, You never may the shelter want, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, But oft amid December's storm, For lo, when, through the vapours dank, |