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'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,
When woods and fields put off all sadness.

Thus began the King and spake;

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“ So from the halls
Of ancient Hofburg's walls,

A luxuriant Spring shall break."

Drums and trumpets echo loudly,
Wave the crimson banners proudly.

From balcony the King looked on ;
In the play of spears,
Fell all the cavaliers,

Before the monarch's stalwart son.

To the barrier of the fight
Rode at last a sable Knight.

“Sir Knight ! your name and scutcheon, say!" “Should I speak it here, Ye would stand aghast with fear ;

I am a Prince of mighty sway !”

When he rode into the lists,
The arch of heaven grew black with mists,

And the castle 'gan to rock.
At the first blow,
Fell the youth from saddle-bow,

Ilardly rises from the shock.

Pipe and viol call the dances,
Torch-light through the high hall glances;

Waves a mighty shadow in;
With manner bland
Doth ask the maiden's hand,

Doth with her the dance begin ;

Danced in sable iron sark,
Danced a measure weird and dark,

Coldly clasped her limbs around.
From breast and hair
Down fall from her the fair

Flowerets, faded, to the ground.

THE BLACK KNIGHT.

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.

'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, With mournful mind The ancient King reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,
But the guest a beaker took ;
« Golden wine will make

you

whole !" The children drank, Gave many a courteous thank;

“Oh, that draught was very cool!”

Each the father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter ; and their faces

Colourless grow utterly.
Whichever way
Looks the fear-struck father gray,

He beholds his children die.

" Woe! the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth;

Take me, too, the joyless father ! ”
Spake the grim Guest,
From his hollow, cavernous breast,

“Roses in the spring I gather!"

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS.

INTO the Silent Land !
Ah! who shall lead us thither ?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land ?

Into the Silent Land !
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band !
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land !

0 Land! 0 Land !
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land !

L'ENVOI.

Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose !

Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, “Be of good cheer!”

Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm !

Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest, dark and hoar !

Tongues of the dead, not lost,
But speaking from death's frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost !

Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps !

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