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And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw

Laugh as he hailed us. “ And as to catch the gale

Round veered the flapping sail, Death ! was the helmsman's hail,

Death without quarter ! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel

Through the black water! As with his wings aslant,

Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,

With his prey laden;
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,

Bore I the maiden.
“ Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore

Stretching to leeward ; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour,

Stands looking seaward. " There lived we many years;

Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,

She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise

On such auother !
“Still grew my bosom then,

Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,

The sunlight hateful !
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,

0, death was grateful ! “ Thus, seamed with many scars,

Bursting these prison-bars,
Up to its native stars

My soul ascended !

There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoall to the Northland ! skoal / "*

-Thus the tale ended.

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,

To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds

That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth,
Apd he watched how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now West, now South.
Then up and spake an old sailor,

Had sailed the Spanish Main,
“I pray thee put into yonder port,

For I fear a hurricane.
“Last night, the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see!”
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,

And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the North-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,

Then leaped her cable's length.
“Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale

That ever wind did blow.”
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat

Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast. * In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drinking a health. I hare slightly changed the orthography of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,

O say what may it be?” “ 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!”

And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns,

O say what may it be?" “Some ship in distress, that cannot live

In such an angry sea!”
"O father! I see a gleaming light,

O say what may it be?”.
But the father answered never a word,

A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow

On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed

That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave

On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear,

Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept

Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.
And ever the fitful gusts between

A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath ber bows,

She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew

Like icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy waves

Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side

Like the horns of an angry bull.
Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,

With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,

Ho! ho! the breakers roared !
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,

A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,

Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,

The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,

On the billows fall and rise.
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,

In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman's Woe!



[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 Chris.' topher Musgrave, Bart., of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not so entirely shattered as the ballad leaves it.]

OF 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 gray-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, 0 Luck of Edenhall i
"'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 song 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 alonc,
The gray-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 !”


FROM TIE DANISI. I 'The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the original have been carefully preserved in the translation.]

SIR Oluf he rideth over the plain,

Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide,
But never, ah never can meet with the man

A tilt with him dare ride.
He saw under the hill-side

A Knight full well equipped;
His steed was black, his helm was barred;

He was riding at full speed.
He wore upon his spurs

Twelve little golden birds;
Anon he spurred his steed with a clang,

And there sat all the birds and sang.

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