THE BLACK KNIGHT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

'Twas 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 Hofburgh'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.

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 dis
traught,

With mournful mind

The ancient King reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,

"Sir Knight! your name and scut- But the guest a beaker took;

cheon 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,

"Golden wine will make you whole!" The children drank,

Gave many a courteous thank;
"Oh, that draught was very cool!"

The arch of heaven grew black with Each the father's breast embraces,

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 bigh hall glances;
Waves a mighty shadow in;
With manner bland
Doth ask the maiden's hand,
Doth with her the dance begin;

Son and daughter; and their faces
Colourless grow utterly.

Whichever way

Looks the fear-struck father grey,

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!"

SILENT LOVE.
WHO love would seek,
Let him love evermore

And seldom speak;

For in love's domain
Silence must reign;
Or it brings the heart
Smart

And pain.

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL.

FROM UHLAND.

The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the "shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, Bart., of Eden Hall, Cumberland; and is not so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it.]

Or Edenhall, the youthful lord

Bids sound the festal trumpet's call;
He rises at the banquet board,

And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all,
"Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!"

The butler hears the words with pain,
The house's oldest seneschal
Takes slow from its silken cloth again
The drinking glass of crystal tall;
They call it the Luck of Edenhall.

Then said the lord: "This glass to praise,
Fill with red wine from Portugal!"
The grey-beard with trembling hand obeys;
A purple light shines over all,

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.

Then speaks the lord, and waves it light,
"This glass of flashing crystal tall
Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite;
She wrote in it; If this glass doth fall,
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!

""Twas right a goblet the Fate should be
Of the joyous race of Edenhall!
Deep draughts drink we right willingly;
And willingly ring, with merry call,
Kling! klang! to the luck of Edenhall!"

First rings it deep, and full, and mild,
Like to the sound of a nightingale;

Then like the roar of a torrent wild;

Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall,

The glorious Luck of Edenhall.

"For its keeper takes a race of might,
The fragile goblet of crystal tall;
It has lasted longer than is right;

Kling! klang! with a harder blow than all
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!"

As the goblet ringing flies apart,
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall;

And through the rift, the wild flames start;
The guests in dust are scattered all,
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!

In storms the foe, with fire and sword;
He in the night had scaled the wall,
Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord,
But holds in his hand the crystal tall,
The shattered Luck of Edenhall.

On the morrow the butler gropes alone,
The grey-beard in the desert-hall,
He seeks his lord's burnt skeleton,
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.

"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside,
Down must the stately columns fall;
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride;
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball
One day like the Luck of Edenhall!”

* This poem is placed by Mr. Longfellow amongst his translations: we had always supposed it to be original, and still think it bears internal evidence of being from his own pen.

FROM GRAF VON PLATEN.

How I started up in the night, in the night,
Drawn on without rest or reprieval,

The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sigh
As I wandered so light

In the night, in the night,

Through the gate with the arch medieval.

The mill-brook rushed through the rocky height,
I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning;

Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,
As they glided so light

In the night, in the night,

Yet backward not one was returning.

O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,

The stars in melodious existence;

And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;-
They sparkled so light

In the night, in the night,

Through the magical measureless distance.

And upward I gazed, in the night, in the night,
And again on the waves in their fleeting;
Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight,
Now silence thou light

In the night, in the night,

The Remorse in thy heart that is beating.

528

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE DANISH.

KING CHRISTIAN.

A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK.-FROM JOHANNES EVALD.

KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast
In mist and smoke;

His sword was hammering so fast,
Through Gothic helm and brain it passed;
Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,
In mist and smoke.

"Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can!
Who braves of Denmark's Christian

The stroke?"

Nils Juel

gave

heed to the tempest's roar;

Now is the hour!

He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,

And smote upon the foe full sore,

And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar,
"Now is the hour!"

"Fly!” shouted they," for shelter fly!
Of Denmark's Juel who can defy

The power?"

North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent
Thy murky sky!

Then champions to thine arms were sent;

Terror and Death glared where he went;
From the waves was heard a wail, that rent