And with a sudden flaw Laugh as he hailed us. "And as to catch the gale Bore I the maiden. "Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Stands looking seaward. "There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; "Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another! "Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful! "Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison-bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"* THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS, IT was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old sailor, "I Had sailed the Spanish Main, pray thee put into yonder port, "Last night, the moon had a golden ring, The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, Colder and louder blew the wind, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, "Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr, For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, """Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!” And he steered for the open sea. * In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. "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, 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. And a whooping billow swept the crew She struck where the white and fleecy waves But the cruel rocks, they gored her side With the masts went by the board; At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 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 Wee! 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; And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, 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; Then said the Lord; "This glass to praise, The gray-beard with trembling hand obeys; It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light, "Twas right a goblet the Fate should be 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 As the goblet ringing flies apart, In storms the foe, with fire and sword; Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, On the morrow the butler gropes alone, "The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, 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 KnightErrantry. 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, 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 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, He wore upon his helm A wreath of ruddy gold; And that gave him the Maidens Three, |