No. XXIII.

THE WILD HUNTSMEN.

GERMAN.

WALTER SCOTT.

The tradition of the "Wild Huntsmen" (Die Wilde Jäger) is a
popular superstition, very generally believed by the peasants of
Germany. Whoever wishes for more information respecting these
imaginary Sportsmen, will find his curiosity fully satisfied, by
perusing the first Volume of the German Romance of
"the
Necromancer;" (Der Geister-banner.) The original of this
Ballad is by Bürger, Author of the well-known "Leonora."

THE Wildgrave* winds his bugle horn;

To horse, to horse, halloo, halloo!

His fiery courser snuffs the morn,

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And thronging serfs their Lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;
While answering hound, and horn, and steed,
The mountain echoes startling wake.

* The Wildgrave is a German title, corresponding to the Earl Warden of a royal forest.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful man to pray,

Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd.

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ;
Halloo, halloo, and hark again !
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two stranger horsemen join the train.

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.

The right-hand horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;

The left, from eye of tawny glare,

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.

He wav'd his huntsman's cap on high, Cry'd, "Welcome, welcome, noble Lord! "What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,

"To match the princely chase, afford?"

-"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,”-
Cry'd the fair youth, with silver voice;
"And for devotion's choral swell,

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Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.

"To-day th' ill-omen'd chase forbear; "Yon bell yet summons to the fane:

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To-day the warning spirit hear,

"To-morrow thou may'st mourn in vain.”

-"Away, and sweep the glades along!"The sable hunter hoarse replies;

-"To muttering monks leave matin song, "And bells, and books, and mysteries."

The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed,

And, launching forward with a bound, -"Who for thy drowsy priestlike rede "Would leave the jovial horn and hound?

"Hence, if our manly sport offend:

"With pious fools go chaunt and pray;

"Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend,— "Halloo! halloo! and hark away!"

The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light,
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill,
And on the left, and on the right,

Each stranger horseman follow'd still.

Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn,
A stag more white than mountain snow;
And louder
rung the Wildgrave's horn,

-"Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!"—

A heedless wretch has cross'd the

He

way,

gasps the thundering hoofs below;

But, live who can, or die who may,
Still forward, forward! On they go.

See where yon simple fences meet,

A field with autumn's blessings crown'd;
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet,
A husbandman with toil embrown'ḍ.

-"O mercy! mercy! noble Lord;

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Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd "In scorching hour of fierce July."—

Earnest the right-hand stranger pleads,
The left still cheering to the prey:
The impetuous Earl no warning heeds,
But furious holds the onward way.

-"Away, thou hound, so basely born, "Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!". Then loudly rung his bugle-horn,

-"Hark forward, forward, holla ho!"

So said, so done—a single bound

Clears the poor labourer's humble pale : Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale.

And man, and horse, and hound, and horn,

Destructive sweep the field along,

While joying o'er the wasted corn

Fell Famine marks the madd'ning throng.

Again up roused, the timorous

prey

Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill;

Hard run,

he feels his strength decay,

And trusts for life his simple skill.