"Well saw I the ancient parents,

Without the crown of pride;

They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!"

THE BLACK KNIGHT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

'Twas Pentecost, the feast of gladness, When woods and fields put off all sadness,— Thus began the King and spake ; "So from the halls

Of ancient Hofburg's walls,

A luxuriant Spring shall break."

Drums and trumpets echo loudly,
Wave the crimson banners proudly,-
From balcony the King looked on ;
In the play of spears,

Fell all the cavaliers,

Before the monarch's stalwart son.

To the barrier of the fight
Rode at last a sable Knight.

"Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon say!" "Should I speak it here,

Ye would stand aghast with fear!

I am a Prince of mighty sway!"

When he rode into the lists,

The arch of heaven grew black with mists,

And the castle 'gan to rock.

At the first blow,

Fell the youth from saddle-bow,
Hardly rises from the shock.

Pipe and viol call the dances,

Torch-light through the high hall glances;

Waves a mighty shadow in ;

With manner bland

Doth ask the maiden's hand,

Doth with her the dance begin.

Danced in sable iron sark,

Danced a measure weird and dark,
Coldly clasped her limbs around.
From breast and hair

Down fall from her the fair

Flowerets, faded, to the ground.

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.

'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, With mournful mind

The ancient King reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,
But the guest a beaker took;

"Golden wine will make you whole!"

The children drank,

Gave many a courteous thank;

"Oh, that draught was very cool!"

Each the father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter; and their faces.
Colourless grow utterly.
Whichever way

Looks the fear-struck father grey,
He beholds his children die.

"Woe ! the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth;
Take me, too, the joyless father! "
Spake the grim Guest,

From his hollow cavernous breast,

"Roses in the spring I gather!"

FROM "THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S

SUPPER."

FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNER.

[ESAIAS TEGNÉR, the author of this poem, was born in the parish of By, in Wärmland, in the year 1782. In 1799 he entered the University of Lund, as a student; and in 1812 was appointed Professor of Greek in that institution. In 1824 he became Bishop of Wexiö. He is the glory and boast of Sweden, and stands first among all her poets, living or dead. His principal work is "Frithiofs Saga."]

(The village church, where the children are to be confirmed.)

PENTECOST, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village

Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the spire of the belfry,

Tipped with a vane of metal, the friendly flames of the spring-sun

Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime.

Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with roses,

Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet

Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with lips rosy-tinted

Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches

Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.

Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arbour

Stood its old-fashioned gate; and within, upon each cross of iron,

Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands

of affection.

Even the dial, that stood on a hillock among the departed,

(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossoms.

Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet,

Who on his birth-day is crowned by children and children's children,

So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron

Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes,

While all round at his feet an eternity slumbered in quiet,