High o'er the sinner's humbled head

At length the solemn silence broke; And, from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke.

"Oppressor of creation fair!

Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool! Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! The measure of thy cup is full.

"Be chased for ever through the wood;
For ever roam the affrighted wild;
And let thy fate instruct the proud,
God's meanest creature is his child."

'Twas hush'd: One flash, of sombre glare,
With yellow tinged the forests brown;
Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair,
And horror chill'd each nerve and bone.

Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill;
A rising wind began to sing;
And louder, louder, louder still,

Brought storm and tempest on its wing.

Earth heard the call;-Her entrails rend;
From yawning rifts, with many a yell,
Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend
The misbegotten dogs of hell.

What ghastly Huntsman next arose,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
His eye like midnight lightning glows,
His steed the swarthy hue of heil.

The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, With many a shriek of helpless woe; Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, And, “Hark away, and holla, ho!"

With wild despair's reverted eye,

Close, close behind, he marks the throng, With bloody fangs, and eager cry;

In frantic fear he scours along.—

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase,
Till time itself shall have an end:
By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space,
At midnight's witching hour, ascend.

This is the horn, and hound, and horse,
That oft the lated peasant hears;
Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross,
When the wild din invades his ears.

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear
For human pride, for human woe,
When, at his midnight mass, he hears
The infernal cry of, "Holla, ho!”
VOL I.

25

THE FIRE-KING.

"The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him." Eastern Tale.

[1801.]

991

This ballad was written at the request of MR. LEWIS, to be inserted in his "Tales of Wonder." It is the third in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, however, partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint-Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem.

BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear,
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear;
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee,
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie.

1

O see you that castle, so strong and so high?
And see you
that lady, the tear in her eye?
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land.
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand?

"Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me,
What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie?
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand?
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land?"-

'Published in 1801.

"O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have; And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon,

For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have won."

A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung; O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she flung:

"Oh palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee,

For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie.

"And palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave,

O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave?

When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rush'd on,

0 saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?"

"O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows; O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows;

Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high,
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die.

"The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls,
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls;
The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone;
Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon."

O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed;
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need;
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land,
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand.

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie,
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he;

A heathenish damsel his light heart had won,
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon.

"O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be,
Three things must thou do ere 1 hearken to thee:
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take;
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake.

“And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore,
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake;
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake.

"And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand,
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land;
For my lord and my love then Count Albert I'll take,
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake."

He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled sword,
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord;
He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on,
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon.

And in the dread cavern, deep, deep under ground,
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround,
He has watch'd until daybreak, but sight saw he none,
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone.

Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed,
Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed;
They search'd all his garments, and, under his weeds,
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads.

Again in the cavern, deep, deep under ground,
He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whistled
round;