Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand; Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest : "Was that wild start of terror and despair, No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe, Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread, Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned, Was Edward Mansell once ;-the lightest heart, That ever played on holiday his part! The leader he in every Christmas game, Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song; "Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er, The clown, who robs the warren, or excise, Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same, To darker villany, and direr deeds. Wild howled the wind the forest glades along, And oft the owl renewed her dismal song; Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Red William's spectre walked his midnight round. When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look, From the green marshes of the stagnant brook The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shock! The waning moon, with storm-presaging gleam, Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam; The old Oak stooped his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky'Twas then, that, couched amid the brushwood sere, In Malwood-walk young Mansell watched the deer : The fattest buck received his deadly shotThe watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife, O'erpowered at length the Outlaw drew his knife! Next morn a corpse was found upon the fellThe rest his waking agony may tell ! SONG. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1809. Though April his temples may wreath with the vine, 'Tis the ardour of August matures us the wine, Though thy form, that was fashioned as light as a fay's, Has assumed a proportion more round, And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze, Enough, after absence to meet me again, Enough, that those dear sober glances retain For me the kind language of love. (The rest was illegible, the fragment being torn across by a racket-stroke.) EPITAPH. DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT TO BE ERECTED IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AGREE- Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1809. This simple tablet marks a father's bier, And those he loved in life, in death are near; Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread, TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS OF GERMAN BALLADS. THE WILD HUNTSMAN. [This and the following ballad were first published anonymously in a small book, entitled, "The Chase and William and Helen;" two ballads, from the German of Gottfried Augustus Bürger. Edinburgh: Printed by Mundell and Son, Bank-close, for Manners and Miller, Parliament-square; and sold by T. Cadell, jun., and W. Davies, in the Strand, London. 1796. 4to. It goes generally by the title, "The Wild Huntsman."] THIS is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the "Wilde Jäger" of the German poet Bürger. The tradition upon which it is founded bears that for merly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, named Falkenburg, was sa much addicted to the pleasures of the chase, and otherwise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon the poor peasants who were under his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the people adopted a superstition, founded probably on the many various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a German forest, during the silence of the night. They conceived they still heard the cry of the Wildgrave's hounds; and the well-known cheer of the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horse's feet, and the rustling of the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly discriminated; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a benighted Chasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the halloo with which the Spectre Huntsman cheered his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, "Glück zu Falkenburg!" [Good sport to ye, Falkenburg!] "Dost thou wish me good sport?" answered a hoarse voice; "thou shalt share the game;" and there was thrown at him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never perfectly recovered the personal effects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with some variations, is universally believed all over Germany. The French had a similar tradition concerning an aërial hunter, who infested the forest of Fontainebleau. 1. THE Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, His fiery courser snuffs the morn, And thronging serfs their lords pursue. 2. The eager pack, from couples freed, Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake; 3. The beams of God's own hallowed day And, calling sinful man to pray, Loud, long, and deep, the bell had tolled: 4. But still the Wildgrave onward rides; Halloo, halloo! and, hark again! When, spurring from opposing sides,. Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. 5. Who was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 6. The right-hand horseman, young and fair, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. To match the princely chase afford?”— Exchange the rude unhallowed noise. 9. "To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain."10. "Away, and sweep the glades along!" The Sable Hunter hoarse replies; "To muttering monks leave matin-song, And bells, and bocks, and mysteries.' 11. The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed, And, launching forward with a bound, "Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, Would leave the jovial horn and hound? 12. "Hence, if our manly sport offend! With pious fools go chant and pray: 13. The Wildgrave spurred his courser light, 66 Hark, forward, forward! holla, ho!" |