I wish I were where Helen lies: Since my love died for me. OLD BALLAD. CXXXVIII GINEVRA. She was an only child; from infancy She was all gentleness, all gaiety, Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. Great was the joy; but at the Bridal feast, "'Tis but to make a trial of our love." And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook, Weary of his life Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith An old man wandering as in quest of something, Full fifty years were past, and all forgot, That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said It burst, it fell; and lo, a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, Engraven with a name, the name of both, ROGERS. CXXXIX THE ERL KING. Who is it that rides through the forest so fast, And close in his mantle has wrapped him up warm. "Why trembles my darling? why shrinks he with fear?"-“Oh, father! my father! the Erl-King is near ! "The Erl-King, with his crown and his beard long and white!" "Oh! your eyes are deceived by the vapours of night.” -“Come, baby, sweet baby, with me go away! "Fine clothes you shall wear, we will play a fine play; "Fine flowers are growing, white, scarlet, and blue, "On the banks of yon river, and all are for you." "Oh! father! my father! and dost thou not hear, "What words the Erl-King whispers low in mine ear? "Now hush thee, my darling, thy terrors appease; "Thou hear'st 'mid the branches, where murmurs the breeze." "Oh! baby, sweet baby, with me go away! "My daughter shall nurse you, so fair and so gay; "My daughter, in purple and gold who is dress'd, "Shall tend you, and kiss you, and sing you to rest!" -"Oh! father! my father! and dost thou not see "Oh! shame thee, my darling, 'tis fear makes thee blind, "Thou see'st the dark willows which wave in the wind." "I love thee! I doat on thy face so divine! "I must and will have thee, and force makes thee mine!". 'My father! my father! oh! hold me now fast! "He pulls me! he hurts, and will have me at last! ' The father he trembled, he doubled his speed; O'er hills and through forests he spurred his black steed; But when he arrived at his own castle door, Life throbbed in the sweet baby's bosom no more. (From the German of Goethe.) CXL THE WAKENING. How many thousands are wakening now! And some, far out on the deep mid-sea, And some oh, well may their hearts rejoice! — Long shall they yearn for that kindly tone, And some, in the camp, to the bugle's breath, And some, in the gloomy convict cell, To the dull deep note of the warning bell, As it heavily calls them forth to die, When the bright sun mounts in the laughing sky. And some to the peal of the hunter's horn, So are we roused on this chequered earth: |