The convent's chanted rite was stay'd, And the hermit dropp'd his beads, And a trembling ran through the forest-shade, At the neigh of the phantom steeds, And the church-bells pealed to the rocking blast As the Wild Night-Huntsman pass'd. The storm hath swept with the chase away, But the mother looks on her son to-day, And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care The Rhine flows bright, but its waves ere long Must hear a voice of war, And a clash of spears our hills among, And a trumpet from afar; And the brave on a bloody turf must lie, For the Huntsman hath gone by! BRANDENBURGH HARVEST-SONG.* from the german of LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ. THE corn, in golden light, Waves o'er the plain; The sickle's gleam is bright; Full swells the grain. Now send we far around Our harvest lay! -Alas! a heavier sound Comes o'er the day! On every breeze a knell The hamlets pour, -We know its cause too well, She is no more! *For the year of the Queen of Prussia's death. THE SHADE OF THESEUS. ANCIENT GREEK TRADITION. KNOW ye not when our dead From sleep to battle sprung? -When the Persian charger's tread On their covering greensward rung! When the trampling march of foes Had crush'd our vines and flowers, When jewell'd crests arose When banners caught the breeze, When helms in sunlight shone, When masts were on the seas, And spears on Marathon. There was one, a leader crown'd, And arm'd for Greece that day; But the falchions made no sound On his gleaming war-array. In the battle's front he stood, With his tall and shadowy crest; But the arrows drew no blood, Though their path was through his breast. When banners caught the breeze, When helms in sunlight shone, When masts were on the seas, And spears on Marathon. His sword was seen to flash Where the boldest deeds were done; But it smote without a clash ; The stroke was heard by none! His voice was not of those That swell'd the rolling blast, And his steps fell hush'd like snows— "Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd! |