And hark! O hark! the portal's ring,
So soft, so gentle, ting-ling-ling!
Then came unto her ear

These words, distinct and clear:

"Holla! my child, come, ope the door!
Dost wake, my love, or sleep?
Lov'st thou me now as heretofore?
And dost thou laugh or weep?"

"Ah, Wilhelm, thou, so late by night?
I've wept and watched till dimmed my sight.
My grief, alas, how great!

Whence comest thou so late?"

"We saddle but at dead of night; I from Bohemia come,

'Twas late ere I began my flight,

Now will I bear thee home."

"Ah, Wilhelm, quick, come in to me!
The wind howls through the hawthorn-tree!

Come in, my fondest, best,

And warm thee on my breast!"

"O let it howl and whistle round
The hawthorn-tree, my sweet!
The charger paws, the spurs resound,
To linger 'tis not meet.

Come, bind thy dress, spring up to me,
Behind me, for to-day I thee
A hundred leagues must bear,
My nuptial couch to share."

"Unto her bridal bed will bear

A hundred leagues thy bride?

O hark! the clock rings through the air
Its tongue eleven cried." -

"Come, dearest, come, the moon is bright,

The dead and we ride quick by night.

To-day thou shalt, I vouch,

Lie on thy nuptial couch."

"Where is thy little chamber? where Thy nuptial bed? relate!"

"Cool, small, and quiet, far from here,

Eight boards two small, six great!".

"There's room for me?" "For me and thee. Come, bind thy dress, spring up to me!

The guests await, and hope

Our chamber door will ope."

She tied her dress, and with a bound

Upon the charger sprung;

Her arms of lily white around

The faithful rider slung;

And tramp, tramp, tramp, they flew anon
In furious gallop, on, on, on!

Steed snorted, rider, too;

The sparks and pebbles flew.

On sinister and dexter hand,

Before their eyes in sunder,

How swiftly fly mead, heath, and land!

The bridges, how they thunder!

"Love, fear'st thou aught? The moon shines bright. Hurrah! the dead ride quick by night!

Dost fear the dead?"

"Ah no,

Ill boding in the bog.

"At midnight bury in the tomb

The corpse with song and wail!
I bear my youthful spouse now home,
Come to the bride's regale!

Come, Sexton, bring the choir along,
And chant to me our nuptial song!
Speak, priest, thy blessing, ere

We to our couch repair!"

The song was hushed, the bier was gone
Obedient to his call.

Whoop! whoop! behind the charger on

They scoured, one and all.

And tramp, tramp, tramp, they flew anon,
In furious gallop on, on, on!
Steed snorted, rider, too;
The sparks and pebbles flew.

How flew unto the right and left
Hedge, tree, and mountain fast!
How swiftly flew, both right and left,
Town, village, hamlet, past!-

"Love, fear'st thou aught? The moon shines bright. Hurrah! the dead ride quick by night!

Dost fear, my love, the dead?"

"Ah, leave in peace the dead!"

See there! see there! Ha! dimly seen,
How dance around the wheel,
Crown'd by the moonbeam's pallid sheen,
The spectral dead their reel.

"So ho! ye rout, come here to me!
Ye rabble rout, come follow me!
And dance our wedding reel
Ere we to slumber steal."

Whoop! whoop! ho, ho! the spirits flee
Behind with din and noise;

So with the withered hazel-tree

The rustling whirlwind toys.

And further, further, flew they on,
In furious gallop on, on, on!
Steed snorted, rider, too;

The sparks and pebbles flew.

How all beneath the moonbeam flew,

How flew it far and fast!

How o'er their head the heavens blue,

And stars flew swiftly past!

"Love, fear'st thou aught? The moon shines bright. Hurrah! the dead ride quick by night!

Dost fear, my love, the dead?"

"Ah speak not of the dead!"

"Steed, steed! methinks the cock I hear;

Nigh is the sand-glass spent.

Steed, steed! up, up! away from here!

The morning air I scent.

At length, at length, our race is run,

The nuptial bed at length is won,

The dead ride quick by night,

Now, now will we alight."

Unto an iron gate anon

In wild career they flew,

With slender twig one blow thereon
Burst lock and bolt in two.
Wide open creaked the folding door,
And grave on grave they hurried o'er,
And tombstones gleamed around
Upon the moonlit ground.

Ha! look! see there! within a trice,
Wheugh! wheugh! a horrid wonder!
The rider's jerkin, piece by piece,
Like tinder falls asunder.
Upon his head no lock of hair,

A naked skull all grisly bare;
A skeleton, alas!

With scythe and hour-glass.

The snorting charger pranced and neighed,

Fire from his nostrils came,

Ho, ho! at once beneath the maid

He vanished in the flame.

And howl on howl ran through the sky,

From out the pit a whining cry;

Lenore's heart was wrung,

"Twixt life and death she hung.

Now in the moonlight danced the train

Of phantom spirits round,

In giddy circles, in a chain;

Thus did their howl resound:

"Forbear! forbear! though hearts should break,
Blaspheme not, lest God's wrath thou wake!

Thy body's knell we toll.

May God preserve thy soul!"

THE WIVES OF WEINSBERG.1

WHICH Way to Weinsberg? neighbor, say!
'Tis sure a famous city:

It must have cradled, in its day,
Full many a maid of noble clay,

And matrons wise and witty;

And if ever marriage should happen to me,
A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.

1 Translated by C. T. Brooks: Reprinted from "Representative German Poems" by the courtesy of Mrs. Charles T. Brooks.

King Conrad once, historians say,
Fell out with this good city;
So down he came, one luckless day,
Horse, foot, dragoons,

And cannon,

in stern array,—
more's the pity!

Around the walls the artillery roared,
And bursting bombs their fury poured.

But naught the little town could scare;
Then, red with indignation,

He bade the herald straight repair
Up to the gates, and thunder there
The following proclamation:-
"Rascals! when I your town do take,
No living thing shall save its neck!"
Now, when the herald's trumpet sent
These tidings through the city,
To every house a death knell went;
Such murder-cries the hot air rent
Might move the stones to pity.
Then bread grew dear, but good advice
Could not be had for any price.

Then, "Woe is me!" "O misery!"

What shrieks of lamentation!

And "Kyrie Eleison!" cried
The pastors, and the flock replied,

"Lord! save us from starvation!" "Oh, woe is me, poor Corydon

My neck, my neck! I'm gone,

- I'm gone!" Yet oft, when counsel, deed, and prayer Had all proved unavailing,

When hope hung trembling on a hair,
How oft has woman's wit been there!

A refuge never failing;

For woman's wit and Papal fraud,
Of olden time, were famed abroad.

A youthful dame, praised be her name!

Last night had seen her plighted, Whether in waking hour or dream, Conceived a rare and novel scheme,

Which all the town delighted; Which you, if you think otherwise, Have leave to laugh at and despise.

-