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While the pealing organ rung;

To linger out his pilgrimage? Were it ineet with sacred strain

No:-close beneath proud Newark's tower,* To close my lay, so light and vain,

Aroge the Minstrel's lowly bower; Thus the holy Fathers sung.

A simple hut; but there was seen

The little garden hedged with green,
XXXI.

The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.
HYMN FOR THE DEAD.

There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze,
That day of wrath, that dreadful day,

Oft heard the tale of other days; When heaven and earth shall pass away,

For much he loved to ope his door, What power shall be the sinner's stay?

And give the aid he begg'd before. How shall he meet that dreadful day?

So pass'd the winter's day; but still,

When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, † When shrivelling like a parched scroll,

And July's eve, with balmy breath, The flaming heavens together roll;

Waved ihe blue-bells on Newark heath; When louder yet, and yet more dread,

When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, Swells the high truinp that wakes the dead! And corn was green on Carterhaugh,

And flourish’d, broad, Blackandro's oak, Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,

The aged Harper's soul awoke! When man to judgment wakes from clay,

Then would he sing achievements high, Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay,

And circumstance of chivalry,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away!

Till the rapt traveller would stay,
Forgetful of the closing day;

And noble youths, the strain to hear,
Hush's is the harp—the Minstrel gone.

Forsook the hunting of the deer; And did he wander forth alone ?

And Yarrow, as he roll'd along, Alone, in indigence and age,

Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. ("the vale unfolds

varied measures and familiar style of our earlier poets; a natural Rich groves of lofty stature,

consequence of having been satiated with the regular harmony o. With Yarrow winding through the pomp

Pope and his school, and somewhat wearied with the stillnese Of cultivated nature;

of lofty poetic language. We now know what can be doce And, rising from those lofty groves,

in that way, and we seek entertainment and variety, rather than Behold a ruin houry,

finished modulation and uniform dignity. We now take oor The shattered front of Newark's towers,

leuve of this very elegant, spirited, and striking poem."- Annual Renown'd in Border story.

Rerier, 1804)

(" From the various extracts we have given, our readers will Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,

be enabled to form a tolerably correct judgment of the poem; and, For sportive youth to stay in ;

if they are pleased with those portions of it which have now For manhood to enjoy his strength;

been exhibited, we may venture w assure them that they will not And age to wear a way in," &c.

be disappointed by the perusal of the whole. The whole night Wordsoorth's Yarrow Visited. )

journey of Deloraine-ihe opening of the Wizard's tomb --the + [Bowhill is now, as has been mentioned already, a seat of the castle, are all executed with the same spirit and poetical

march of the English batile--and the parley before the walls of the Duke of Buccleuch. Il stands immediately below Newark Hill, and above the junction of the Yarrow and the Ettrick, already extracted ; and a great variety of short passages occur

energy, which we think is conspicuous in the specimens we have For the other places named in the text, the reader is referred

in every part of the poem, which are still more striking and merito various notes on the Minstrelay of the Scottish Border.-ED.) : [Orig.-" And grain ivaved green on Carterhaugh."'J

torious, though it is impossible to detach them, without injury, 81" The large quotations we have made from this singular

in the form of a quotation. It is but fair to apprize the reader,

on the other hand, that he will meet with very heavy passages, poem must have convinced our readers that it abounds equally and with a variety of details which are not likely to interest any. with poetical description, and with circumstances curious to the

one but a Borderer or an antiquary. We like very well to hear of antiquary. These are farther illustrated in copious and very en

the gallant Chief of Otterburne,' or the Dark Knight of Lidks. tertaining notes: they, as well as the poem, must be particularly dale and feel the elevating power of great names, when we read! interesting to those who are connected with Scottish families, or conversant in their history. The author has managed the versi

of the tribes that mustered to the war, 'beneath the crest of old

Dunbar and Hepburn's mingled banners.' But we really cannot fication of the poem with great judgment, and the most happy

so far sympathize with the local partialities of the author, as to effect. If he had aimed at the grave and stately cadence of the

feel any glow of patriotism or ancient virtue in bearing of the epic, or any of our more regular measures, it would have been | Todrig of Johnston clans, or of Elliots. Armstronss, and Tiin. impossible for him to have brought in such names as Wall Tin.

linns, still less can we relish the introduction of Black Jock of linn, Black John, Priesthough, Scrogg, and other Scottish

Athelstane, Ilhitslade the Harok, Arthur Fire-the-braes, kied names, or to have spoken of the lyke-lonke, and the slogan and

Roland Forster, or any other of those worthies, who driving of cattle, which Pope and Gray would have thought as impossible to introduce into serious poetry, as Boileau did the

Songht the beeves that made their broth, names of towns in the campaigns of Louis IV. Mr. Scott has,

In Scotland and in England both,' therefore, very judiciously thrown in a great mixture of the famni into a poem which has any pretensions to seriousness or dignity. liar, and varied the measure ; and if it has not the finished har. The ancient metrical romance might have admitted these mony which, in such a subject, it were in vain to have attempted, homely personalities; but the present age will not endure them; it has great case and spirit and never tires the readers. Indeed we and Mr. Scott must either sacritice his Burder prejudices, or offend think we see a tendency in the public taste to go back to the more I all his readers in the other parts of the empire."-JEFFREY.)

BALLADS,

TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, &c.

BALLADS,

TRANSLATED OR IMITATED FROM THE GERMAN, &c.

WILLIAM AND HELEN.

(1796.*] IMITATED FROM THE "LENORE" OF BURGER. The Author had resolved to omit the following version of a well-known Poem, in any collection which he might make of his poetical trifles. But the publishers baving pleaded for its admission, the Author has consented, though not unaware of the disadvantage at which this youthful essay (for it was written in 1795) must appear with those which have been executed by much more able hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Norwich, and that of Mr. Spencer.

The following Translation was written long before the Author saw any other, and originated in the following circumstances :-A lady of high rank in the literary world read this romantic tale, as translated by Mr. Taylor, in the house of the celebrated Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh. The Author was not present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time; but a gentleman who had the pleasure of hearing the ballad, afterwards told him the story, and repeated the remarkable chorus

Tramp! tramp! across the land they speede,

Splash! splash! across the sea ;
Hurrah! The dead can ride apace!

Dost fear to ride with me?" In attempting a translation then intended only to circulate among friends, the present Author did not hesitate to make use of this impressive stanza; for which freedom he has since obtained the forgiveDess of the ingenious gentleman to whom it properly belongs.

V.
And old and young, and sire and son,

To meet them crowd the way,
With shouts, and mirth, and melody,
The debt of love to pay.

VI.
Full many a maid her true-love met,

And sobb’d in his embrace,
And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles
Array'd full many a face.

VII.
Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;

She sought the host in vain ;
For none could tell her William's fate,
If faithless, or if slain.

VIII.
The martial band is past and gone;

She rends her raven hair,
And in distraction's bitter mood
She weeps with wild despair.

IX.
"O rise, my child,” her mother said,

Nor sorrow thus in vain;
A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again.”

X.
"O mother, what is gone, is gone,

What's lost for ever lorn:
Death, death alone can comfort me;
O had I ne'er been born!

XI.
O break, my heart, O break at once !
Drink my lífe-blood, Despair!
No joy remains on earth for me,
For me in heaven no share."

XII.
O enter not in judgment, Lord !"
The pious mother prays;
Impute not guilt to thy frail child !
She knows not what she says.

XIII.
O say thy pater noster, child !
O turn to God and grace!
His will, that turn'd thy bliss to bale,
Can change thy bale to bliss." —

XIV.
“O mother, mother, what is bliss ?

O mother, what is bale ? My William's love was heaven on earth, Without it earth is hell.

XV. “Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven,

Since my loved William's slain ? I only pray'd for William's sake,, And all my prayers were vain."

XVI.
"O take the sacrament, my child,

And check these tears that flow;
By resignation's humble prayer,
O hallow'd be thy wo!"

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WILLIAM AND HELEN.

I.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,

And eyed the dawning red :
"Alas, iny love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead ?"-

II.
With gallant Fred'rick's princely power

He sought the bold Crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.

III.
With Paynim and with Saracen

At length a truce was made,
And ev'ry knight return'd to dry
The tears his love had shed.

IV.
Our gallant host was homeward bound

With many a song of joy;
Green waved the laurel in each plume,

The badge of victory. . Tas CHASE, and WILLIAM AND HELEN; Two Ballads, from the German of Gottfried Augustus Bürger. Edinburgh: Printed by Muodel and Son, Royal Bank Close, for Manners and Mil. ler. Parliament Square ; and sold by T. Cadell, junr., and W. Davies, in the Strand, London. 1796. 4to.-- See Essay on Im itations of the Ancient Pallad," in Border Minstreisy, of the Present edition, pp. 184, 185.)

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XVII.

XXXII. "No sacrament can quench this fire,

“Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st behind Or slake this scorching pain ;

Upon my black barb steed : No sacrameut can bid the dead

O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles,
Arise and live again.

We haste w bridal bed.”-
XVIII.

XXXIII. "O break, my heart, O break at once!

To-night-to-night a hundred miles ! Be thou my god, Despair!

O dearest William, stay! Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me,

The bell strikes twelve--dark, dismal hour!
And vain each fruitless prayer."-

O wait, my love, till day!”
XIX.

XXXIV. "O enter not in judgment, Lord,

" Look here, look here--the moon shines clearWith thy frail child of clay!

Full fast I ween we ride;
She knows not what her tongue has spoke; Mount and away! for ere the day
Impute it not, I pray!

We reach our bridal bed.
XX.

XXXV. “ Forbear, my child, this desperate wo,

" The black barb snorts, the bridle rings; And turn to God and grace;

Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee! Well can devotion's heavenly glow

The feast is made, the chamber spread,
Convert thy bale to bliss.'

The bridal guests await thee."-
XXI.

XXXVI.
O mother, mother, what is bliss ?

Strong love prevail'd : She busks, she bounes, O mother, what is bale?

She mounts the barb behind, Without my William what were heaven,

And round her darling William's waist
Or with him what were hell ?''-

Her lily arms she twined.
XXII.

XXXVII.
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,

And, hurry! hurry! off they rode, Upbraids each sacred power,

And fast as fast might be ; Till spent, she sought her silent room,

Spurn'd from the courser's thundering heels All in the lonely tower.

"The flashing pebbles flee. XXIII.

XXXVIII. She beat her breast, she wrung her hands,

And on the right, and on the left, Till sun and day were o'er,

Ere they could snatch a view, And through the glimmering lattice shone

Fast, fasi each mountain, mead, and plain,
The twinkling of the star.

And cot, and castle, flew.
XXIV.

XXXIX.
Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell

" Sit fast-dost fear ?- The moon shines clear-, That o'er the moat was hung;

Fleet goes my barb-keep hold! And, clatter! clatter! on its boards

Fear'st ihou ?"-—“O no !" she faintly said; The hoof of courser rung.

· But why so stern and cold ? XXV.

XL. The clank of echoing steel was heard

“ What vonder rings? what yonder sings ? As off the rider bounded ;

Why shrieks the owlet gray ?" — And slowly on the winding stair

"'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, A heavy footstep sounded.

The body to the clay.
XXVI.

XLI.
And hark ! and hark! a knock-Tap ! tap!

“ With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, A rustling stifled noise ;-

Ye may inter the dead; Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ;

To-night I ride, with my young bride,
At length a whispering voice.

To deck our bridal bed."
XXVII.

XLII.
Awake, awake, arise, my love!

"Come with thy choir, thou coffin'd guest, How, Helen, dost thou fare?

To swell our nuptial song!
Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st thou, or weep'st? Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast !
Hast thought on me, my fair ?”—

Come all, come all along !".
XXVIII.

XLIII. “My love! my love !-so late by night !

Ceased clang and song; down sunk the bier; I waked, I wept for thee.

The shrouded corpse arose : Much have I borne since dawn of morn;

And, hurry! hurry! all the train
Where, William, could'st thou be?" –

The thundering steed pursues.
XXIX.

XLIV. "We saddle late-from Hungary

And, forward ! forward! on they go; I rode since darkness fell;

High snorts the straining steed; And to its bourne we both return

Thick pants the rider's labouring breath,
Before the matin bell.” —

As headlong on they speed.
XXX.

XLV. “O rest this night within my arms,

"O William, why this savage haste ? And warm thee in their fold !

And where thy bridal bed ?' — Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind :

" 'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill, My love is deadly cold."

And narrow, trustless maid.”—
XXXI.

XLVI. "Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush ! No room for me ?'-" Enough for both ;This night we must away;

Speed, speed, my barb, thy course!"The steed is wight, the spur is bright;

O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge, I cannot stay till day.

He drove the furious horse.

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