"Far in the Northern land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand,

Tamed the ger-falcon ;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew

With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.
"Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout

Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,

Filled to o'erflowing. "Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me,

Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine

Fell their soft splendour.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest,

By the hawk frighted.
"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;

When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.
"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,

And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,-
Fairest of all was she

Among the Norsemen !-
When on the white-sea strand,
Waving his armèd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,

With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,

When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hailed us.
"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water!
"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,

With his prey laden;
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
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
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,

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
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"*
-Thus the tale ended.

THE WRECK OF THE
HESPERUS.

IT was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little
daughter,

To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds

That ope in the month of May.

*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.

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, row South. Then up and spake an old sailor, Had sailed the Spanish Main, pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

66 I

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see !" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,

And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the North-east;

The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.
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, "Ofather! 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.

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.
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 Eden-
hall!"

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;

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 Olur'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 be dight."

"Art thou a Knight elected,

And have three Maidens thee be

dight;

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.

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!