No. XXII.

FREDERICK AND ALICE.

GERMAN.WALTER SCOTT.

This Ballad is translated (but with such alterations and additions, that it may almost be called original) from the fragment of a Romance, sung in Goethe's Opera of in Goethe's Opera of "Claudina von Villà Bella."

FREDERICK leaves the land of France,
Homewards haftes his fteps to measure;

Careless casts the parting glance
On the scene of former pleasure ;

Joying in his prancing steed,

Keen to prove his untried blade,
Hope's gay dreams the foldier lead
Over mountain, moor, and glade.

Helpless,

Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn,
Lovely Alice wept alone,

Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn,
Hope, and peace, and honour flown

Mark her breaft's convulfive throbs!
See, the tear of anguish flows!
Mingling foon with bursting fobs,
Loud the laugh of frenzy rose.

Wild she curfed, and wild fhe pray'd;
Seven long days and nights are o'er;
Death in pity brought his aid,
As the village bell ftruck four,

Far from her, and far from France,
Faithlefs Frederick onward rides,
Marking blythe the morning's glance
Mantling o'er the mountain's fides.

Heard ye not the boding found,
As the tongue of yonder tower,
Slowly, to the hills around,

Told the fourth, the fated hour?

Starts the fteed, and fnuffs the air,

Yet no caufe of dread appears; Briftles high the rider's hair,

Struck with ftrange myfterious fears.

"

Desperate,

Defperate, as his terrors rife,
In the fteed the spur he hides;
From himfelf in vain he flies;
Anxious, restless, on he rides.

Seven long days, and seven long nights,
Wild he wander'd, woe the while!
Ceafeless care, and causeless fright,
Urge his footsteps many a mile.

Dark the feventh fad night defcends;
Rivers fwell, and rain-ftreams pour;
While the deafening Thunder lends
All the terrors of his roar,

Weary, wet, and spent with toil,

Where his head fhall Frederick hide?

Where, but in yon ruin'd aisle,

By the lightning's flash defcried,

To the portal dank and low,

Faft his fteed the wanderer bound;

Down a ruin'd staircase, flow

Next his darkling way he wound,

Long drear vaults before him lie!
Glimmering lights are feen to glide!
"Bleffed Mary hear my cry!
Deign a finner's fteps to guide !"-

Often

Often loft their quivering beam,
Still the lights more flow before,
Till they reft their ghaftly gleam,
Right against an iron door.

Thundering voices from within,
Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose;
As they fell, a folemn strain

Lent its wild and wondrous clofe!

Midft the din, he feem'd to hear
Voice of friends, by death removed;-
-Well he knew that folemn air,
'Twas the lay that Alice loved.-

Hark! for now a folemn knell

FOUR times on the still night broke ; FOUR times, at its deaden'd fwell, Echoes from the ruins fpoke,

As the lengthen'd clangours die,
Slowly opes the iron door!
Straight a banquet met his eye,

But a funeral's form it wore!

Coffins for the feats extend;

All with black the board was spread,
Girt by parent, brother, friend,
Long fince number'd with the dead!

1

Alice,

Alice, in her grave clothes bound,
Ghaftly smiling, points a feat;
All arose with thundering found;
All the expected stranger greet,

High their meagre arms they wave, Wild their notes of welcome fwell; "Welcome, traitor, to the grave! "Perjured, bid the light farewell!"

No.