Led they not forth, in rapture,

A beauteous maiden there? Resplendent as the morning sun, Beaming with golden hair?

Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;

They were moving slow, in weeds of woe, No maiden was by their side!

THE BLACK KNIGHT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

'T WAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, When woods and fields put off all sadness. Thus began the King and spake ;

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;

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,
Hardly rises from the shock.

Pipe and viol call the dances,
Torch-light through the high halls 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.

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;

O that draught was very cool!

Each the father's breast embraces,

Son and daughter; and their faces Colorless 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!