THE BRAVE ROLAND.* THE brave Roland!. the brave Roland! False tidings reach'd the Rhenish strand That he had fall'n in fight; And thy faithful bosom swoon'd with pain, For the loss of thine own true knight. * The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shown as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired, on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands. But why so rash has she ta’en the veil, In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale? For her vow had scarce been sworn, And the fatal mantle o'er her flung, When the Drachenfells to a trumpet rung— 'Twas her own dear warrior's horn! Woe! woe! each heart shall bleed shall break! She would have hung upon his neck, Had he come but yester-even: And he had clasp'd those peerless charms That shall never, never fill his arms, Or meet him but in heaven. Yet Roland the brave Roland the true He could not bid that spot adieu; It was dear still 'midst his woes; For he loved to breathe the neighb'ring air, And to think she blest him in her prayer, When the Halleluiah rose. There's yet one window of that pile, Which he built above the Nun's green Thence sad and oft look'd he isle ; (When the chant and organ sounded slow) On the mansion of his love below, For herself he might not see. She died! He sought the battle-plain! Her image fill'd his dying brain, When he fell and wish'd to fall: And her name was in his latest sigh, When Roland, the flower of chivalry, Expired at Roncevall. THE SPECTRE BOAT. A BALLAD. LIGHT rued false Ferdinand to leave a lovely maid forlorn, Who broke her heart and died to hide her blushing cheek from scorn. One night he dreamt he woo'd her in their wonted bower of love, Where the flowers sprang thick around them, and the birds sang sweet above. But the scene was swiftly changed into a church yard's dismal view, And her lips grew black beneath his kiss, from love's delicious hue. What more he dreamt, he told to none; but, shud dering, pale, and dumb, Look'd out upon the waves, like one that knew his hour was come. 'Twas now the dead watch of the night-the helm was lash'd a-lee, And the ship rode where Mount Etna lights the deep Levantine sea; When beneath its glare a boat came, row'd by a woman in her shroud, Who, with eyes that made our blood run cold, stood up and spoke aloud :— "Come, Traitor, down, for whom my ghost still wanders unforgiven ! Come down, false Ferdinand, for whom I broke my |